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By A.CONAN DOYLE, author of 
“The White Company,” “The Sign of the Four,’ 
“Beyond the City,’ ‘“‘The Sherlock Holmes 
Stories,” Etc. oak dak eens 





(Boing a veprint from the reminiscences of John H 

Watson, M.D., late of the Army 
Medical Department.) 

I—Mr. Sherlock Holmes. 0000 0000000 00-00 6eee 

TI.—The Science of Deduction .....cesccceces 
III.—The Lauriston Gardens Mystery....cecee: 
IV.—What John Rance had to Tell.....0..-02 

V.—Our Advertisement Brings a Visitor...... 
VI.—Tobias Gregson Shows What he Can do.. 

VII.—Light in the Darkness ....cccoverevccocce 

The Country of the Saints, 

1.—On the Great Alkali Plain ......+scccece. 
II.—The Flower of Utah ......ccccccccccccce 
il1.—John Ferrier Talks with the Prophet...... 
IV.—A Flight for Life... ccccccccccccetsccece 
V.—The Avenging Angels ...-scccccscesccccces 

VI—A Continuation of the Reminiscences of 
John H. Watson, M.D. eeeaevceoseo ee eeene 

VII—The Conclusion 60000 2Oll 0900 000-5 08-09 8000 

s2eZ2e28S «a 





(Being a reprint from the reminiscences of JOHN H. WaTSON, M.D., 
late of the Army Medical Department.) 


In the year 1878 I took my degree of Doctor of 
Medicine of the University of London, and proceeded 
to Netley to go through the course prescribed for sur- 
geonsin the army. Having completed my studies there, 
I was duly attached to the Fifth Northumberland Fusi- 
liers as assistant surgeon. ‘The regiment was stationed 
in India at the time, and before I could join it the sec- 
ond Afghan war had broken out. On landing at Bom- 
bay, I learned that my corps had advanced through the 
passes, and was already deep in the enemy’s country. 
I followed, however, with many other officers who were 
in the same situation as myself, and succeeded in reach- 
ing Candahar in safety, where I found my regiment, and 
at once entered upon my new duties. 



The campaign brought honors and promotion to many, 
but for me it had nothing but misfortune and disaster. 
I was removed from my brigade and attached to the 
Berkshires, with whom I served at the fatal battle of 
Maiwand. There I was struck on the shoulder by a 
Jezail bullet, which shattered the bone and grazed the 
subclavian artery. I should have fallen into the hands 
of the murderous Ghazis had it not been for the devo- 
tion and courage shown by Murray, my orderly, who 
threw me across a pack-horse and succeeded in bring- 
ing me safely to the British lines. 

Worn with pain, and weak from the prolonged hard- 
ships which I had undergone, I was removed, with a 
great train of wounded sufferers, to the base hospital at 
Peshawur. Here I rallied, and had already improved 
so far as to be able to walk about the wards, and even 
to bask a little upon the veranda, when I was struck 
down by enteric fever, that curse of our Indian posses- 
sions. For months my life was despaired of, and when 
at last I came to myself and became convalescent, I 
was so weak and emaciated that a medical board deter- 
mined that not a day should be-lost in sending me back 
to England. Iwas dispatched, accordingly, in the troop- 
ship “‘ Orontes,” and landed a month later on Portsmouth 
jetty, with my health irretrievably ruined, but with per- 
mission from a paternal government to spend the next 
nine months in attempting to improve it. 

I had neither kith nor kin in England, and was there- 
fore as free as air—or as free as an income of eleven 
shillings and sixpence a day will permit a man to be. 
Under such circumstances, I naturally gravitated to 


London, that great cesspool into which all the loungers 
and idlers of the empire are {rresistibly drained. There 
I stayed for some time at a private hotel in the Strand, 
leading a comfortless, meaningless existence, and spend- 
ing such money as I had considerably more freely than 
I ought. So alarming did the state of my finances be- 
come, that I soon realized that I must either leave the 
metropolis and rusticate somewhere in the country, or that 
I must make a complete alteration in my style of living. 
Choosing the latter alternative, I began by making up 
my mind to leave the hotel, and to take up my quarters 
in some less pretentious and less expensive domicile. 

On the very day that I had come to this conclusion, 
I was standing at the Criterion bar, when some one . 
tapped me on the shoulder, <nd turning round I recog- 
nized young Stamford, who had been a dresser under 
me at Bart’s. The sight of a friendly face in the great 
wilderness of London is a pleasant thing indeed to a 
lonely man. In old days Stamford had never been a 
particular crony of mine, but now I hailed him with en- 
thusiasm, and he, in his turn, appeared to be delighted 
to see me. In the exuberance of my joy, I asked him 
to lunch with me at the Holborn, and we started off to- 
gether in a hansom. 

“What ever have you been doing with yourself, Wat- 
son?” he asked, in undisguised wonder, as we rattled 
through the crowded London streets. “ You are as thin 
as a lath and as brown as a nut.” 

I gave him a short sketch of my adventures, and had 
hardly concluded it by the time that we reached our 


“Poor devil! ” he said, commiseratingly, after he 
had listened to my misfortunes. ‘‘ What are you up to 
now ?” 

“Looking for lodgings,” I answered. “Trying to 
solve the problem as to whether it is possible to get 
comfortable rooms at a reasonable price.” 

“That’s a strange thing,” remarked my companion; 
“you are the second man to-day that has used that ex- 
pression to me.” 

“ And who was the first ?” I asked. 

“A fellow who is working at the chemical laboratory 
up at the hospital. He was bemoaning himself this 
morning because he could not get some one to go 
halves with him in some nice rooms which he had 
found, and which were too much for his purse.” 

“By Jove!” I cried, “if he really wants some one to 
share the rooms and the expense, I am the very man for 
him. I should prefer having a partner to being alone.” 

Young Stamford looked rather strangely at me over 
his wine-glass. 

“You don’t know Sherlock Holmes yet,” he said; 
“perhaps you would not care for him as a constant 

“Why, what is there against him ?” 

“Oh, I didn’t say there was anything against him. 
He is a little queer in his ideas—an enthusiast in some 
branches of science. As far as I know, he is a decent 
fellow enough.” 

“ A medical student, I suppose ?” said I. 

“No; I have no idea what he intends to goinfor. I 
believe he is well up in anatomy, ana he is a first-class 


chemist; but, as far as I know, he has never taken out 
any systematic medical classes. His studies are very 
desultory and eccentric, but he has amassed a lot of 
out-of-the-way knowledge which would astonish his pro- | 

“Did you never ask him what he was going in for ?” 
I asked. > 

“No; he is not a man that it is easy to draw out, 
though he can be communicative enough when the fancy 
seizes him.” 

“T should like to meet him,” I said. “If Iam to 
lodge with any one, I should prefer a man of studious 
and quiet habits. I am not strong enough yet to stand 
much noise or excitement. I had enough of both in 
Afghanistan to last me for the remainder of my natural 
existence. How could I meet this friend of yours ?” 

“ He is sure to be at the laboratory. He either avoids 
the place tor weeks, or else he works there from morn- 
ing to night. If you like, we shall drive round together 
after luncheon.” 

“ Certainly,” I answered ; and the conversation drifted 
away into other channels. 

As we made our way to the hospital after leaving the 
Holborn, Stamford gave me a few more particulars about 
the gentleman whom I proposed to take as a fellow: 

“You mustn’t blame me if you don’t get on with 
him,” he said; “I know nothing more of him than I 
have learned from meeting him occasionally in the lab- 
oratory. You proposed this arrangement, so you mus* 
not hold me responsible.” 


“If we don’t get on it will be easy to part company,” 
I answered. “It seems to me, Stamford,” I added, look- 
ing hard at my companion, “that you have some reason 
for washing your hands of the matter. Is this fellow’s 
temper so formidable, or what is it? Don’t be mealy- 
mouthed about it.” 

“Tt is not easy to express the iuéxpressible” he an- 
swered, with a laugh. ‘‘ Holmes 1s a little too scientific 
for my tastes—-it approaches to cold-bloodedness. I 
could imagine his giving a friend a little pinch of the 
latest vegetable alkaloid, not out of malevolence, you | 
understand, but simply out of a spirit of inquiry in order 
to have an accurate idea of the effects. To do him 
justice, I think that he would take it himself with the 
same readiness. He appears to have a passion for defi- 
nite and exact knowledge.” 

“Very right, too.” 

“Yes; but it may be pushed to excess. When it 
comes to beating the subjects in the dissecting-rooms 
with a stick, it is certainly taking rather a bizarre shape.” 

“ Beating the subjects!” 

“Yes, to verify how far bruises may be produced 
after death. I saw him at it with my own eyes.” 

“ And yet you say he is not 2 medical student ?™ 

“No. Heaven knows what the objects of his studies 
are! But here we are, and you must form your own 
impressions about him.” 

As he spoke, we turned down a narrow lane and 
passed through a smal! side door, which opened into a 
wing of the great hospital. It was familiar ground to 
me, and I needed no guiding as we ascended the blee’* 


stone staircase and made our way down the long corridor 
with its vista of whitewashed wall and dun-colored doors. 
Near the further end a low, arched passage branched 
away from it and led to the chemical laboratory. 

This was a lofty chamber, lined and littered with 
countless bottles. Broad, low tables were scattered 
about, which bristled with retorts, test-tubes, and little 
Bunsen lamps, with their blue flickering flames. There 
was only one student in the room, who was bending 
over a distant table absorbed in his work. At the sound 
of our steps he glanced round and sprung to his feet with 
a cry of pleasure. 

“T’ve found it! I’ve found it!” he shouted to my 
companion, running toward us with a test-tube in his 
hand. “I have found a reagent which is precipitated 
by hemoglobin, and by nothing else.” 

- Had he discovered a gold mine, greater delight could 
not have shone upon his features. 

“ Dr. Watson—Mr. Sherlock Holmes,” said Stamford, 
introducing us. 

“How are you?” he said, cordially, gripping my 
hand with a strength for which I should hardly have 
given seg credit. “You have been in sane enti I 

“How on earth did you know that?” I asked, in 

“ Never mind,” said he, chuckling to himself. “The 
question now is about hemoglobin. No doubt you see 
the significance of this discovery of mine ?” 

“Tt is interesting, chemically, no doubt,” I answered ; 
“but practically— 


“Why, man, it is the most practical medico-legal dis- 
covery for years. Don’t you see that it gives us an in- 
fallible test for blood-stains ? Come over here, now!” 
He seized me by the coat-sleeve in his eagerness, and 
drew me over to the table at which he had been work- 
ing. “Let us have some fresh blood,” he said, digging 

_a long bodkin into his finger, and drawing off the result- 

ing drop of blood in a chemical pipette. “ Now, I add 
this small quantity of blood to a litre of water. You 
perceive that the resulting mixture has the appearance 
of true water. The proportion of blood cannot be more 
than one in a million. I have no doubt, however, that 
we shall be able to obtain the characteristic reaction.” 

As he spoke, he threw into the vessel a few white 
crystals, and then added some drops of a transparent 
fluid. In an instant the contents assumed a dull mahog- 
any color, and a brownish dust was precipitated to the 
bottom of the glass jar. | 

“Ha! ha!” he cried, clapping his hands and looking 
as delighted ds a child with a new toy. “ What do you 
think of that ?” 

“Tt seems to be a very delicate test,” I remarked. 

“Beautiful! beautiful! The old guaiacum test was 
very clumsy and uncertain. So is the microscopic ex- 
amination for blood-corpuscles. ‘The latter is valueless 
if the stains are a few hours old. Now, this appears to 
act as well whether the blood is old or new. Had this 
test been invented, there are hundreds of men now 
walking the earth who would long ago have paid the 
penalty of their crimes.” 

“Indeed!” I murmured. 


“Criminal cases are continually hinging upon that 
one point. A man is suspected of a crime months per- 
haps after it has been committed. His linen or clothes 
are examined, and brownish stains discovered upon 
them. Are they blood-stains, or mud-stains, or rust- | 
stains, or fruit-stains, or what are they? ‘That is a 
question which has puzzled many an expert ; and why P 
Because there was no reliable test. Now we have the 
Sherlock Holmes test, and there will no longer be any 

His eyes fairly glittered as he spoke, and he put his 
hand over his heart and bowed as if to some applauding 
crowd conjured up by his imagination. 

“You are to be congratulated,” I remarked, consider- 
ably surprised at his enthusiasm. 

“There was the case of Von Bischoff at Frankfort 
last year. He would certainly have been hung had this 
test been in existence. ‘Then there was Mason, of 
Bradford, and the notorious Muller, and Lefevre, of 
Montpellier, and Samson, of New Orleans. I could 
name a score of cases in which it would have been de- 

“You seem to be a walking calendar of crime,” saic 
Stamford, with a laugh. “You might start a paper on 
those lines. Call it the ‘ Police News of the Past.’” 

“Very interesting reading it might be made, too,” re- 
marked Sherlock Holmes, sticking a small piece of plas- 
ter over the prick of his finger. “I have to be careful,” 
he continued, turning to me with a smile, “ for I dabble 
with poisons a good deal.” 

He held out his hand as he spoke, and I noticed that 


it was all mottled over with similar pieces of plaster and 
discolored with strong acids. 

“We came here on business,” said Stamford, sitting 
down on a three-legged stool, and pushing another one 
in my direction with his foot. ‘‘ My frend here wants 
to take diggings, and as you were complaining that you 
could get no one to go halves with you, I thought that 
I had better bring you together.” 

Sherlock Holmes seemed delighted at the idea of 
sharing his rooms with me. 

“T have my eye ona suite in Baker street,” he sail 

“which would suit us down to the ground. You don’t 
mind the smell of strong tobacco, I hope ?” 

“T always smoke ‘ship’s’ myself,” I answered. 

“That’s good enough. I generally have chemicals 
about, and occasionally do experiments. Would that 
annoy you?” 

“ By no means.” 

‘Let me see—what are my other shortcomings? 1 
get in the dumps at times, and don’t open my mouth 
for days on end. You must not think I am sulky when 
I do that. Just let me alone, and I'll soon be all right. 
What have you to confess, now? It’s just as well for 
two fellows to know the worst of each other before they 
begin to live together.” 

I laughed at this cross-examination. 

“TI keep a bull-pup,” I said, “and object to rows, be- 
cause my nerves are shaken, and I get up at all sorts of 
ungodly hours, and I am extremely lazy. I have an- 
other set of vices when I’m well, but those are the prin- 
cipal ones at present.” 


“Do you include violin-playing in your category of 
rows ?” he asked, anxiously. 

“Tt depends on the player,” I answered. “A well- 
played violin is a treat for the gods; a badly played 

“Oh, that’s all right,” he cried, with a merry laugh. 
**T think we may consider the thing as séttled—that is, 
if the rooms are agreeable to you.” 

“When shall we see them?” 

“Call for me here at noon to-morrow, and we'll go 
together and settle everything,” he answered. 

“ All right—noon exactly,” said I, shaking his hand. 

We left him working among his chemicals, and we 
walked together toward my hotel. 

“By the way,” I asked, suddenly, stopping and turn- 
ing upon Stamford, “how the deuce did he know that 
I had come from Afghanistan?” 

My companion smiled an enigmatical smile, 

“That’s just his little peculiarity,” he said. “A good 
many people have wanted to know how he finds things 

“Oh, a mystery, is it ?” I cried, rubbing my hands. 
“This is very piquant. I am much obliged to you for 
bringing us together. ‘The proper study of mankind 
is man,’ you know.” 

“You must study him, then,” Stamford said, as he 
bid me good-by. “You'll find him a knotty problem, 
though. I'll wager he learns more about you than you 
about him. Good-by.” 

“ Good-by,” I answered ; and strolled on to my hotel, 
considerably interested in my new acquaintance. 


WE met next day, as he had arranged, and inspected 
the rooms at No. 2218 Baker street, of which he had 
spoken at our meeting. They consisted of a couple of 
comfortable bedrooms and a single, large, airy sitting- 
room, cheerfully furnished, and illuminated by two 
broad windows. So desirable in every way were the 
apartments, and so moderate did the terms seem when 
divided between us, that the bargain was concluded upon 
the spot, and we at once entered into possession. That 
very evening I moved my things round from the hotel, 
and on the following morning Sherlock Holmes followed 
me with several boxes and portmanteaus. For a day or 
two we were busily employed in unpacking and laying 
out our property to the best advantage. That done, we 
gradually began to settle down and to accommodate 
ourselves to our new surroundings. - 

Holmes was certainly not a difficult man to live with. 
He was quiet in his ways, and his habits were regular. 
It was rare for him to be up after ten at night, and he 
had invariably breakfasted and gone out before I rose in 
the morning. Sometimes he spent his day at the chem- 
ical laboratory, sometimes in the dissecting-room, and 
occasionally in long walks, which appeared to take him 



into the lowest portions of the city. Nothing could ex- 
ceed his energy when the working fit was upon him; 
but now and again a reaction would seize him, and for 
days on end he would lie upon the sofa in the sitting- 
room, hardly uttering a word or moving a muscle from 
morning to night. On these occasions I have noticea 
such a dreamy, vacant expression in His eyes, that I 
might have suspected him of being addicted to the use 
of some narcotic, had not the temperance and cleanli- 
ness of his whole life forbidden such a notion. 

As the weeks went by, my interest in him and my 
curiosity as to his aims in life gradually deepened and 
increased. His very person and appearance were such 
as to strike the attention of the most casual observer. 
In height he was rather over six feet, and so excessively 
lean that he seemed to be considerably taller. His eyes 
were sharp and piercing, save during those intervals of 
torpor to which I have alluded; and his thin, hawk-like 
nose gave his whole expression an air of alertness and 
decision. His chin, too, had the prominence and 
squareness which mark the man of determination. His 
hands were invariably blotted with ink and stained with 
chemicals, yet he was possessed of extraordinary delicacy 
of touch, as I frequently had occasion to observe when 
I watched him manipulating his fragile philosophical 

The reader may set me down as a hopeless busybody, 
when I confess how much this man stimulated my 
curiosity, and how often I endeavored to break through 
the reticence which he showed on all that concerned 

himself. Before pronouncing judgment, however, be it 


remembered how objectless was my life, and how little 
there was to engage my attention. My health forbade 
me from venturing out unless the weather was exception- 
ally genial, and I had no friends who would call upon 
me and break the monotony of my daily existence, 
Under these circumstances, I eagerly hailed the little 
mystery which hung around my companion, and spent 
much of my time in endeavoring to unravel it. 

He was not studying medicine. He had himself, in 
reply to a question, confirmed Stamford’s opinion upon 
that point. Neither did he appear to have pursued any 
course of reading which might fit him for a degree in 
science or any other recognized portal which would give 
him an entrance into the learned world. Yet his zeal 
for certain studies was remarkable, and within eccentric 
limits his knowledge was so extraordinarily ample and 
minute that his observations have fairly astounded me. 
Surely no man would work so hard to attain such pre- 
cise information unless he had some definite end in view. . 
Desultory readers are seldom remarkable for the exact- 
ness of their learning. No man burdens his mind with 
small matters unless he has some very good reason for 
doing so. 

His ignorance was as remarkable as his knowledge. 
Of contemporary literature, philosophy, and politics he 
appeared to know next to nothing. Upon my quoting 
Thomas Carlyle, he inquired in the naivest way who he 
might be and what he had done. My surprise reached 
a climax, however, when I found incidentally that he 
was ignorant of the Copernican theory and of the com- . 
position of the solar system. That any civilized human 


being in this nineteenth century should not be aware 
that the earth trdveled round the sun appeared to be to 
me such an extraordinary fact that I could hardly real- 
ize it. 

“You appear to be astonished,” he said, smiling at 
my expression of surprise. “‘ Now that I do know it, I 
shall do my best to forget it.” 

“To forget it!” 

“You see,” he explained, “I consider that a man’s 
brain originally is like a little empty attic, and you have 
to stock it with such furniture as you choose. A fool 
takes in all the lumber of every sort that he comes 
across, so that the knowledge which might be useful to 
him gets crowded out, or at best is jumbled up with a 
lot of other things, so that he has a difficulty in laying his 
hands upon it. Now the skillful workman is very care- 
ful indeed as to what he takes into his brain-attic. He 
will have nothing but the tools which may help him in 
doing his work, but of these he has a large assortment, 
and all in the most perfect order. It is a mistake to 
think that that little room has elastic walls and can dis- 
tend to any extent. Depend upon it, there comes a 
time when for every addition of knowledge you forget 
something that you knew before. It is of the highest 
importance, therefore, not to have useless facts elbowing 
out the useful ones.” 

“But the solar system!” I protested. 

“What the deuce is it to me?” he interrupted, impa- 
tiently; “you say that we go round the sun. If we 
went round the moon, it would not make a pennyworth 
of difference to me or to my work.” 


I was on the point of asking him what that work 
might be, but something in his manner showed me that 
the question would be an unwelcome one. I pondered 
over our short conversation, however, and endeavored 
to draw my deductions from it. He said that he would 
aequire no Lnowledge which did not bear upon his ob- 
ject. Therefore, all the knowledge which he possessed 
was such a3 would be useful to him. I enumerated in 
my own mind all the various points upon which he had 
shown me that he was exceptionally well informed. I 
even took a pencil and jotted them down. I could not 
help smiling at the document when I had completed it. 
It ran in this way: 

SHERLOCK Ho_mMEs—his limits. 
ie eno eae of Literature.—Nil. 

2. “ Philosophy.—Nil. 

3 i “ Astronomy.—Nil. 

4. * ** Politics.—Feeble. 

5 * “ Botany.—Variable. Well up m 
belladonna, opium, and poisons 
generally. Knows nothing of 
practical gardening. 

&, ” * Geology.—Practical, but limited. 

Tells at a glance different soils 
from each other. After walks 
has shown me splashes upon his 
trousers, and told me by their 
color and consistence in what 
part of London he had received 


7. Knowledge of Chemistry.—Profound. 

8. * “ Anatomy.—<Accurate, but unsys: 
>. we “ Sensational Literature —Immense. 

He appears to know every de. 
tail of every horror perpetrated 
in the century. 
to. Plays the violin well. 
11. Is an expert single-stick player, boxer, and swords. 
12. Has a good practical knowledge of British law. 

When I had got so far in my list I threw it into the 
fire in despair. 

“Tf I cannot find what the fellow is driving at by 
reconciling all these accomplishments, and discovering 
a calling which needs them all,” I said to myself, “1 
may as well give up the attempt at once.” 

I see that I have alluded above to his powers upon 
the violin. These were very remarkable, but as eccentric 
as all his other accomplishments. That he could play 
pieces, and difficult pieces, I knew well, because at my 
request he has played me some of Mendelssohn’s Lieder, 
and other favorites. When left to himself, however, he 
would seldom produce any music or attempt any recog- 
nized air. 

_ Leaning back in his arm-chair of an evening he would 
Close his eyes and scrape carelessly at the fiddle, which 
was thrown across his knee. Sometimes the chords were 
sonorous and melancholy. Occasionally they were fan- 
tastic and cheerful. Clearly they reflected the thoughts 


which possessed him, but whether the music aided these 
thoughts, or whether the playing was simply the result 
of a whim or fancy, was more than I could determine. 
I might have rebelled against these exasperating solos 
had it not been that he usually terminated them by 
playing in quick succession a whole series of my favorite 
airs as a slight compensation for the trial upon my 

During the first week or so we had no callers, and I 
had@ébegun to think that my companion was as friendless 
a man as I was myself. Presently, however, I found 
that he had many acquaintances, and those in the most 
different classes of society. There was o: e little sallow, 
rat-faced, dark-eyed fellow who was ir .oduced to me 
as Mr. Lestrade, and who came three or four times in a 
single week. One morning a young girl called, fashion- 
ably dressed, and stayed for half an hour or more. The 
same afternoon brought a gray-headed, seedy visitor, 
looking like a Jew peddler, who appeared to me te be 
much excited, and who was closely followed by a slip- 
shod elderly woman. On another occasion an old white- 
haired gentleman had an interview with my companion; 
and on another, a railway porter in his velveteen uni- 
form. When any of these nondescript individuals put 
in an appearance, Sherlock Holmes used to beg for the 
use of the sitting-room, and I would retire to my bed- 
room. He always apologized to me for putting me to 
this inconvenience. | 

“T have to use this room as a place of business,” he 
said, “and these people are my clients.” 

Again I had an opportunity of asking him a point- 


blank question, and again my delicacy prevented me 
from forcing another man to confide in me. I imagined 
at the time that he had some strong reason for not al- 
luding to it, but he soon dispelled the idea by coming 
round to the subject of his own accord. 

It was upon the 4th of March, as I have good reason 
to remember, that I rose somewhat earlier than usual, 
and found that Sherlock Holmes had not yet finished 
his breakfast. The landlady had become so accustomed 
to my late habits that my place had not been laid nor 
my coffee prepared. With the unreasonable petulance 
of mankind I rang the bell and gave a curt intimation 
that I was ready. Then I picked up a magazine from 
the table and .,ttempted to while away the time with it, 
while my companion munched silently at his toast. One 
of the articles had a pencil-mark at the heading, and I 
naturally began to run my eye through it. 

Its somewhat ambitious title was ‘‘ The Book of Life,” 
and it attempted to show how much an observant man 
might learn by an accurate and systematic examination 
of all that came in his way. It struck me as being a 
remarkable mixture of shrewdness and of absurdity. The 
reasoning was close and intense, but the deductions ap- 
peared to me to be far-fetched and exaggerated. The 
writer claimed by a momentary expression, a twitch of 
a muscle, or a glance of an eye, to fathom a man’s in- 
most thoughts. Deceit, according to him, was an im- 
possibility in the case of one trained to observation and 
analysis. His conclusions were as infallible as so many 
propositions of Euclid. So startling would his results 
appear to the uninitiated that, until they learned the 



processes by which he had arrived at them, they might 
well consider him as a necromancer. 

“From a drop of water,” said the writer, “a logician 
could infer the possibility of an Atlantic or a Niagara 
without having seen or heard of one or the other. So 
all life is a great chain, the nature of which is known 
whenever we are shown a single link of it. Like all 
other arts, the Science of Deduction and Analysis is one 
which can only be acquired by long and patient study, 
nor is life long enough to allow any mortal to attain the 
highest possible perfection init. Before turning to those 
moral and mental aspects of the matter which present 
the greatest difficulties, let the inquirer begin by master- 
ing more elementary problems. Let him, on meeting a 
fellow-mortal, learn at a glance to distinguish the history 
of the man, and the trade or profession to which he be- 
longs. Puerile as such an exercise may seem, it sharpens 
the faculties of observation and teaches one where to 
look and what to look for. By a man’s finger-nails, by 
his coat-sleeve, by his boot, by his trouser-knees, by the 
callosities of his forefinger and thumb, by his expression, 
by his shirt-cuffs—by each of these things a man’s call- 
ing is plainly revealed. That all united should fail to 
enlighten the competent inquirer in any case is almost 

“What ineffable twaddle!” I cried, slapping the maga- 
zine down on the table; “I never read such rubbish in 
my life.” 

“ What is it? ” asked Sherlock Holmes. 

“Why, this article,” I said, pointing at it with my 


egg-spoon as I sat down to my breakfast. “T see that 
you have read it, since you have marked it. I don’t 
deny that it is smartly written. It irritates me, though. 
It is evidently the theory of some arm-chair lounger who 
evolves all these neat little paradoxes in the seclusion of | 
his own study. It is not practical. I should like to see 
him clapped down in a third-class carriage on the Un- 
derground, and asked to give the trades of all his fellow- 
travelers. I would lay a thousand to one against him.” 

“You would lose your money,” Sherlock Holmes re- 
marked, calmly. ‘As for the article, I wrote it myself.” 

‘6 You! ” 

“Yes; I have a turn both for observation and for 
deduction. The theories which I have expressed there, 
and which appear to you to be so chimerical, are really 
extremely practical—so practical that I depend upon 
them for my bread and cheese.” 

“ And how?” I asked, involuntarily. 

“Well, I have a trade of my own. I suppose Iam 
the only one in the world. [ma consulting detective, 
if you can understand what that is. Here in London 
we have lots of government detectives and lots of pri- 
vate ones. When these fellows are at fault, they come 
to me, and I manage to put them on the right scent. 
They lay all the evidence before me, and I am generally 
able, by the help of my knowledge of the history of 
crime, to set them straight. There is a strong family 
resemblance about misdeeds, and if you have all the de- 
tails of a thousand at your finger-ends, it is odd if you 
can’t unravel the thousand and first. Lestrade is a 


well-known detective. He got himself into a fog re- 
cently over a forgery case, and that was what brought 
him here.” 

“ And these other people ?” 

“They are mostly sent out by private inquiry agen- 
cies. They are all people who are in trouble about 
something, and want a little enlightening. I listen to 
their story, they listen to my comments, and then I 
pocket my fee.” 

“But do you mean to say,” I said, “that without 
leaving your room you can unravel some knot which 
other men can make nothing of, although they have 
seen every detail for themselves? ” 

“Quite so. I have a kind of intuition that way. 
Now and again a case turns up which is a little more 
complex. Then I have to bustle about and see things 
with my own eyes. You see, I have a lot of special 
knowledge which I apply to the problem, and which 
facilitates matters wonderfully. Those rules of deduc- 
_ tion laid down in that article which aroused your scorn 
are invaluable to me in practical work. Observation, 
with me, is second nature. You appeared to be sur- 
prised when I told you, on our first meeting, that you 
had come from Afghanistan.” 

“You were told, no doubt.” 

“Nothing of the sort. I 4mew you came from Af- 
ghanistan. From long habit the train of thought ran so 
swiftly through my mind that I arrived at the conclusion 
without being conscious of intermediate steps. There 
were such steps, however. The train of reasoning ran: 
‘Here is a gentleman of a medical type, but with the 

A STUDY IN StanLE£7Z, <7 

air of a military man. Clearly an army doctor, then. 
| He has just come from the tropics, for his face is dark, 
and that is not the natural tint of his skin, for his wrists 
are fair. He has undergone hardship and sickness, as 
his haggard face says clearly. His left arm has been 
injured. He holds it in a stiff and unnatural manner. 
Where in the tropics could an English army doctor have 
seen much hardship and got his arm wounded? Clearly 
in Afghanistan.’ The whole train of thought did not 
occupy a second. I then remarked that you came from 
Afghanistan, and you were astonished.” 

“It is simple enough as you explain it,” I said, smil- 
ing. “You remind me of Edgar Allan Poe’s Dupin. I 
had no idea that such individuals did exist outside of 

Sherlock Holmes rose and lighted his pipe. 

“No doubt you think that you are complimenting me 
in comparing me to Dupin,” he observed. “ Now, in 
my opinion, Dupin was a very inferior fellow. That 
trick of his of breaking in on his friends’ thoughts with 
an apropos remark after a quarter of an hour’s silence 
is really very showy and superficial He had some 
analytical genius, no doubt; but he was by no means 
such a phenomenon as Poe appeared to imagine.” 

“ Have you read Gaboriau’s works?” I asked. ‘‘ Does 
Lecog come up to your idea of a detective?” 

Sherlock Holmes sniffed sardonically. 

“Lecoq was a miserable bungler,” he said, in an an- 
gry voice; “he had only one thing to recommend him, 
and that was his energy. That book made me posi- 
tively ill. The question was how to identify an unknown 


prisoner. I could have done it in twenty-four hours 
Lecog took six months orso. It might be made a text 
book for detectives to teach them what to avoid.” 

I felt rather indignant at having two characters whom 
I had admired treated in this cavalier style. I walked 
over to the window, and stood looking out into the 
busy street. 

“This fellow may be very clever,” I said to myself, 
“but he is certainly very conceited.” 

“There are no crimes and no criminals in these days,” 
he said, querulously. ‘‘ What is the use of having brains 
in our profession? I know well that I have it in me 
to make my name famous. No man lives or has ever 
lived who has brought the same amount of study and of 
natural talent to the detection of crime which I have 
done. And what is the result? There is no crime to 
detect, or, at most, some bungling villainy with a motive 
so transparent that even a Scotland Yard official can see 
through it.” 

I was still annoyed at his bumptious style of conver- 
sation. I thought it best to change the topic. 

“T wonder what that fellow is looking for?” I asked, 
pointing to a stalwart, plainly dressed individual who 
was walking slowly down the other side of the street, 
looking anxiously at the numbers. He had a large blue 
envelope in his hand, and was evidently the bearer of a 

“You mean the retired sergeant of marines,” said 
Sherlock Holmes. ; 

“Brag and bounce!” thought I to myself. “He 
knows that I cannot verify his guess.” 


The thought had hardly passed through my mind 
when the man whom we were watching caught sight of 
the number on our door, and ran rapidly across the road- 
way. We heard a loud knock, a deep voice below, and 
heavy steps ascending the stair. 

“For Mr. Sherlock Holmes,” he said, stepping into 
the room and handing my friend the letter. 

Here was an opportunity of taking the conceit out of 
him. He little thought of this when he made that ran- 
dom shot. 

“May I ask, my lad,” I said, blandly, “what your 
trade may be?” 

“Commissionaire, sir,” he said, gruffly. ‘“ Uniform 
away for repairs.” 

“And you were?” I asked. with a slightly malicious 
glance at my companion. 

“A sergeant, sir; Royal Marine Light Infantry, sir. 
No answer? Right, sir.” 

He clicked his heels together, raised his hand in a 
salute, and was gone. 


I conress that I was considerably startled by this 
fresh proof of the practical nature of my companion’s 
theories. My respect for his powers of analysis increased 
wondrously. There still remained some lurking suspi- 
cion in my mind, however, that the whole thing was 
a prearranged episode, intended to dazzle me, though 
what earthly object he could have in taking me in was 
past my comprehension. When I looked at him he had 
finished reading the note, and his eyes had assumed the 
vacant, lack-luster expression which showed mental ab- 

“ How in the world did you deduce that ?” I asked. 

“Deduce what?” said he, petulantly. 

“Why, that he was a retired sergeant of marines.” 

“T have no time for trifles,’’ he replied, brusquely ; 
then, with a smile, “Excuse my rudeness. You broke 
the thread of my thoughts; but perhaps it is as well. 
So you actually were not able to see that that man was 
a sergeant of marines?” 

“No, indeed.” 

“It was easier to know it than to explain why I know | 
it. If you were asked to prove that two and two made 
four, you might find some difficulty, and yet you are - 



quite sure of the fact. Even across the street I could 
see a great blue anchor tattooed on the back of the 
fellow’s hand. That smacked of the sea. He had a 
military carriage, however, and regulation side-whiskers. 
There we have the marine. He was a man with some 
amount of self-importance and a certain air of com- 
mand. You must have observed the way in which he 
held his head and swung his cane. A steady, respecta- 
ble, middle-aged man, too, on the face of him—all facts 
which led me to believe that he had been a sergeant.” 

“Wonderful!” I ejaculated. 

“Commonplace,” said Holmes, though I thought 
from his expression that he was pleased at my evident 
surprise and admiration. “I said just now that there 
were no criminals. It appears that I am wrong—look 
at this!” He threw me over the note which the com- 
missionaire had brought. 

“Why,” I cried, as I cast my eye over it, “this is 
terrible! ” 

“Tt does seem to be a little out of the common,” he 
remarked, calmly. ‘“ Would you mind reading it to me 

This is the letter which I read to him: 

“My DEAR MR. SHERLOCK Hotes: There has been 
a bad business during the night at 3 Lauriston Gardens, 
off the Brixton Road. Our man on the beat saw a light 
there about two in the morning, and as the house was 
an empty one, suspected that something was amiss. He 
_ found the door open, and in the front room, which is 
bare of furniture, discovered the body of a gentleman, 


well dressed, and having cards in his pocket bearing the 
name of ‘Enoch J. Drebber, Cleveland, Ohio, U. S. A. 
There had been no robbery, nor is there any evidence 
as to how the man met his death. There are marks 
ef blood in the room, but there is no wound upon his 
person. We are at a loss as to how he came into the 
empty house; indeed, the whole affair is a puzzler. If 
you can come round to the house any time before twelve, 
you will find me there. I have left everything 77 statu 
guo until I hear from you. If you are unable to come I 
shall give you fuller details, and would esteem it a great 
kindness if you would favor me with your opinion. 
“Yours faithfully, 
“ToBias GREGSON.” 

“Gregson is the smartest of the Scotland Yarders,” 
my friend remarked; “he and Lestrade are the pick of — 
a bad lot. They are both quick and energetic, but con- 
ventional—shockingly so. They have their knives into 
each other, too. They are as jealous as a pair of pro- 
fessional beauties. There will be some fun over this 
case if they are both put upon the scent.” 

I was amazed at the calm way in which he rippled on. 

“‘Surely there is not a moment to be lost,” I cried; 
“shall I go and order you a cab?” 

“T am not sure about whether I shall go. I am the 
most incurably lazy devil that ever stood in shoe-leather 
—that is, when the fit is on me, for I can be spry enough 
at times.” 

“Why, it is just such a chance as you have been long: 

ing for.” 


“Mv dear fellow, what does it matter tome? Sup- 
posing I unravel the whole matter, you may be sure 
that Gregson, Lestrade & Co. will pocket all the credit. 
That comes of being an unofficial personage.” 

“ But he begs you to help him.” 

“Yes. He knows that I am his superior, and ac- 
knowledges it to me; but he would cut: his tongue out 
before he would own it to any third person. However, 
we may as well go and have a look. I shall work it 
fut on my own hook. — I may have a laugh at them, if 
[ have nothing else. Come on!” 

He hustled on his overcoat, and bustled about in a 
way that showed that an energetic fit had superseded 
the apathetic one. 

“ Get your hat,” he said. 

“You wish me to come?” 

“Yes, if you have nothing better to do.” 

A minute later we were both in a hansom, driving 
furiously for the Brixton Road. 

It was a foggy, cloudy morning, and a dun-colored 
veil hung over the house-tops, looking like the reflection 
of the mud-colored streets beneath. My companion 
was in the best of spirits, and prattled away about Cre- 
mona fiddles, and the difference between a Stradivarius 
and an Amati. As for myself, I was silent, for the dull 
weather and the melancholy business upon which we 
were engaged depressed my spirits. 

“You don’t seem to give much thought to the matter 
in hand,” I said, at last, interrupting Holmes’s musical 

“No data yet,” he answered. “It is a capita: mis- 


take to theorize before you have all the evidence. BR 
biases the judgment.” 

“You will have your data soon,” I remarked, point- 
ing with my finger; “ this is the Brixton Road, and that 
is the house, if I am not very much mistaken.” _ 

“So it is. Stop, driver, stop!” We were still a hun- 
dred yards or so from it, but he insisted upon our alight- 
ing, and we finished our journey upon foot. 

No. 3 Lauriston Gardens wore an ill-omened and 
minatory look. It was one of four which stood back 
some little way from the street, two being occupied and 
two empty. ‘The latter looked out with three tiers of 
vacant, melancholy windows, which were blank and 
dreary, save that here and there a “ To Let” card had 
developed like a cataract upon the bleared panes. A 
small garden sprinkled over with a scattered eruption 
of sickly plants separated each of these houses from the 
street, and was traversed by a narrow pathway, yellow- 
ish in color, and consisting apparently of a mixture of 
clay and gravel. The whole place was very sloppy from 
the rain which had fallen through the night. The 
garden was bounded by a three-foot brick wall with a 
fringe of wood rails upon the top, and against this wall 
was leaning a stalwart police constable, surrounded by 
a small knot of loafers, who craned their necks and 
strained their eyes in the vain hope of catching some 
glimpse of the proceedings within. 

I nad imagined that Sherlock Holmes would at once 
have hurried into the house and plunged into a study of 
the mystery. Nothing appeared to be further from his 
intention. With an air of nonchalance which, under the 


circumstances, seemed to me to border upon affecta- 
tion, he lounged up and down the pavement, and gazed 
vacantly at the ground, the sky, the opposite houses, 
and the line of railings. Having finished his scrutiny, he 
proceeded slowly down the path, or, rather, down the 
fringe of grass which flanked the path, keeping his eyes 
riveted upon the ground. Twice he stopped, and once 
I saw him smile and heard him utter an exclamation of 
satisfaction. ‘There were many marks of footsteps upon 
the wet, clayey soil, but since the police had been com- 
ing and going over it I was unable to see how my com- 
panion could hope to learn anything from it. Still, I 
had had such extraordinary evidence of the quickness 
of his perceptive faculties that I had no doubt that he 
could see a great deal which was hidden from me. 

At the door of the house we were met by a tall, white- 
faced, flaxen-haired man, with a note-book in his hand, 
who rushed forward and wrung my companion’s hand 
with effusion. ) 

“It is indeed kind of you to come,” he said; “I have 
had everything left untouched.” 

“Except that!” my friend answered, pointing to the 
pathway. “If a herd of buffaloes had passed along 
there could not be a greater mess. No doubt, however, 
you had drawn your own conclusions, Gregson, before 
you permitted this.” 

“T have had so much to do inside the house,” the 

detective said, evasively. “ Mycolleague, Mr. Lestrade, _ 

is here. I had relied upon him to look after this.” 
Holmes glanced at me, and raised his eyebrows sar- 



“With two such men as yourself and Lestrade upon 
the ground, there will not be much for a third party te 
find out,” he said. 

Gregson rubbed his hands in a self-satisfied way. 

“I think we have done all that can be done,” he 
answered ; “‘it’s a queer case, though, and I knew your 
taste for such things.” 

“You did not come here in a cab?” asked Sherlock 

“No, sir.” 

“Nor Lestrade?” 

“No, sir.” 

“Then let us go and look at the room.” 

With which inconsequent remark he strode on into 
the house, followed by Gregson, whose features expressed 
his astonishment. ; 

A short passage, bare planked and dusty, led to the 
kitchen and offices. ‘Two doors opened out of it to the 
left and to the right. One of these had obviously been 
closed for many weeks. The other belonged to the din- 
ing-room, which was the apartment in which the mysteri- 
ous affair had occurred. Holmes walked in, and I fol- 
lowed him with that subdued fecling at my heart which 
the presence of death inspires. 

It was a large, square room, looking all the larger 
for the absence of all furniture. A vulgar, flaring paper 
adorned the walls, but it was blotched in places with 
mildew, and here and there great strips had become 
detached and hung down, exposing the yellow plaster — 
beneath. Opposite the door was a showy fireplace, 
surmounted by a mantel-piece of imitation white marble. 


On one corner of this was stuck the stump of a red wax- 
‘candle. The solitary window was so dirty that the light 
was hazy and uncertain, giving a dull-gray tinge to 
everything, which was intensified by the thick layer of 
dust which coated the whole apartment. 

All these details I observed afterward. At present my 
attention was centered upon the single grim, motionless 
figure which lay stretched upon the boards, with vacant, 
sightless eyes staring up at the discolored ceiling. It 
was that of a man about@forty-three or forty-four years 
of age, middle-sized, broad-shouldered, with crisp, curling 
black hair, and a short, stubbly beard. He was dressed 
in a heavy broadcloth frock-coat and waistcoat, with 
light-colored trousers and immaculate collar and cuffs. 
A top-hat, well brushed and trim, was placed upon the 
floor beside him. His hands were clinched and his 
arms thrown abroad, while his lower limbs were inter- 
locked as though his death-struggle had been a grievous 
one. On his rigid face there stood an expression of 
horror and, as it seemed to me, of hatred, such as I 
have never seen upon human features. This malignant 
and terrible contortion, combined with the low forehead, 
blunt nose, and prognathous jaw, gave the dead mana 
singularly simious and ape-like appearance, which was 
increased by his writhing, unnatural posture. I have 
seen death in many forms, but never has it appeared to 
me in a more fearsome aspect than in that dark, grimy 
apartment, which looked out upon one of the main 
arteries of suburban London. Lestrade, lean and ferret- 
like as ever, was standing by the doorway, and greeted 
‘1y companion and myself. 


“This case will make a stir, sir,” he remarked. ‘It 
beats anything I have seen, and I am no chicken.” 

“There is no clew,” said Gregson. 

“None at all,” chimed in Lestrade. 

Sherlock Holmes approached the body, and, kneeling 
down, examined it intently. 

“You are sure that there is no wound?” he asked, 
pointing to numerous gouts and splashes of blood which 
lay all around. 

“ Positive!’ cried both detectives. 

“Then, of course, this blood belongs to a second in- 
dividual—presumably the murderer, if murder has been 
committed. It reminds me of the circumstances attend- 
ant on the death of Van Jansen, in Utrecht, in the 
year ’34. Do vou remember the case, Gregson?” 

“No, sir.” 

“Read it up—you really should. There is nothing 
new under the sun. It has all been done before.” 

As he spoke, his nimble fingers were flying here, there, 
and everywhere, feeling, pressing, unbuttoning, examin- 
ing, while his eyes wore the same far-away expression 
which I have already remarked upon. So swiftly was 
the examination made that one would hardly have 
guessed the minuteness with which it was conducted. 
Finally, he sniffed the dead man’s lips, and then glanced 
at the soles of his patent-leather boots. 

“He has not been moved at all?” he asked. 

“No more than was necessary for the purpose of out 

“You can take him to the mortuary now,” he said. 

‘There 4s nothing more to be learned.” 


Gregson had a stretcher and four men at hand. At 
his call they entered the room, and the stranger was lifted 
and carried out. As they raised him, a ring tinkled 
down and rolled across the floor. Lestrade grabbed it 
up and stared at it with mystified eyes. 

“There’s been a woman here,” he goer “It’s a 
woman’s wedding-ring.” 

He held it out, as he spoke, upon the palm of his 
hand. We all gathered round him and gazed at it. 
There could be no doubt that that circle of plain gold 
had once adorned the finger of a bride. 

“This complicates matters,” said Gregson. ‘“‘ Heaven 
knows, they were complicated enough before!” 

“You're sure it doesn’t simplify them?” observed 
Holmes. ‘“There’s nothing to be learned by staring at 
it. What did you find in his pockets?” 

“We have it all here,” said Gregson, pointing to a 
litter of objects upon one of the bottom steps of the 
stairs. “A gold watch, No. 97,163, by Barraud, of Lon- 
don. Gold Albert chain, very heavy and solid. Golc 
ring, with Masonic device. Gold pin—bull-dog’s head, 
with rubies as eyes. Russian-leather card-case, with 
cards of Enoch J. Drebber, of Cleveland, corresponding 
with the E. J. D. upon the linen. No purse, but loose 
money to the extent of seven pounds thirteen. Pocket 
edition of Boccaccio’s ‘ Decameron,’ with name of Joseph 
Stangerson upon the fly-leaf. Two letters—one ad- 
dressed to E. J. Drebber and one to Joseph Stangerson.” 

“ At what address?” 

“ American Exchange, Strand—to be left till called 
for. They are both from the Guion Steamship Com- 


pany, and refer to the sailing of their boats from Liver. 
pool. It is clear that this unfortunate man was about 
to. return to New York.” 

“Have you made any inquiries as to this man 
Stangerson?” : 

“T did it at once, sir,” said Gregson. “I have had 
advertisements sent to all the newspapers, and one of my 
men has gone to the American Exchange, but he has 
not returned yet.” 

» “ Have you sent to Cleveland?” 

“We telegraphed this morning.” 

“How did you word your inquiries ?” 

“We simply detailed the circumstances, and said that 
we should be glad of any information which could help us.” 

“You did not ask for particulars on any point which 
appeared to you to be crucial?” 

“I asked about Stangerson.” 

“Nothing else? Is there no circumstance on which 
this whole case appears to hinge? Will you not tele- 
graph again?” 

“T have said all I have to say,” said Gregson, in an 
offended voice. 

Sherlock Holmes chuckled to himself, and appeared 
to be about to make some remark, when Lestrade, who 
had been in the front room while we were holding this 
conversation in the hall, reappeared upon the scene, 
rubbing his hands in a pompous and self-satisfied manner. 

“Mr. Gregson,” he said, “I have just made a dis- 
covery of the highest importance, and one which would 
have been overlooked had I not made a careful exami- 
nation of the walls.” 


The little man’s eyes sparkled as he spoke, and he 
was evidently in a state of suppressed exultation at 
having scored a point against his colleague, 

“Come here,” he said, bustling back into the room, 
_ the atmosphere of which felt cleaner since the removal 
of its ghastly inmate. ‘“‘ Now, stand there!” 

He struck a match on his boot and held it up against 
the wall. 

“Look at that!” he said, triumphantly. 

I have remarked that the paper had fallen avvay in 
parts. In this particular corner of the room a large 
piece had peeled off, leaving a yellow square of coarse 
plastering. Across this bare space there was scrawled 
in blood-red letters a single word: 


“What do you think of that?” cried the detective, 
with the air of a showman exhibiting his show. ‘“ This 
was overlooked because it was in the darkest corner of 
the room, and no one thought of looking there. The 
murderer has written it with his or her own blood. See 
this smear where it has trickled down the wall! That 
disposes of the idea of suicide, anyhow. Why was that 
corner chosen to write it on? Iwill tell you. See that 
candle on the mantel-piece. It was lighted at the time, 
and if it was lighted this corner would be the brightest 
instead of the darkest portion of the wall.” 

“And what does it mean, now that you ave found 
it?” asked Gregson, in a depreciatory voice. 

“Mean? Why, it means that the writer was going 


to put the female name Rachel, but was disturbed before _ 
he or she had time to finish. You mark my words, 
when this case comes to be cleared up you will find 
that a woman named Rachel has something to do with 
it. It’s all very well for you to laugh, Mr. Sherlock © 
Holmes. You may be very smart and clever, but the 
old hound is the best, when all is said and done.” 

“T really beg your pardon!” said my companion, 
who had ruffled the little man’s temper by bursting inte 
an explosion of laughter. “You certainly have the 
credit of being the first of us to find this out, and, as 
you say, it bears every mark of having been written by 
the other participant in last night’s mystery. I have not 
had time to examine this room yet, but with your per- 
mission I shall do so now.” 

As he spoke, he whipped a tape-measure and a large, 
round magnifying-glass from his pocket. With these 
two implements he trotted noiselessly about the room, 
sometimes stopping, occasionally kneeling, and once 
lying flat upon his face. So engrossed was he with his 
occupation that he appeared to have forgotten our pres- 
ence, for he chattered away to himself under his breath 
the whole time, keeping up a running fire of exclamations, 
groans, whistles, and little cries suggestive of encourage- _ 
ment and of hope. As I watched him I was irresistibly 
reminded of a pure-blocded, well-trained fox-hound as 
it dashes backward and forward through the covert, 
whining in its eagerness, until it comes across the lost — 
scent. For twenty minutes or more he continued his 
researches, measuring with the most exact care the dis- 
tance between marks which were entirely invisible to me, 


and occasionally applying his tape to the walls in an 
equally incomprehensible manner. In one place he 
gathered very carefully a little pile of gray dust from the 
floor, and packed it away in an envelope. Finally he 
examined with his glass the word upon the wall, going 
_ over every letter of it with the most minute exactness. 
This done, he appeared to be satisfied, for he replaced 
his tape and his glass in his pocket. eee" 

“They say that genius is an infinite capacity for tak- 
ing pains,” he remarked, with a smile. “It’s a very bad 
definition, but it does apply to detective work.” 
' -Gregson and Lestrade had watched the maneuvers 
of their amateur companion with considerable curiosity 
and some contempt. They evidently failed to appreciate 
the fact, which I had begun to realize, that Sherlock 
Holmes’s smallest actions were all directed toward some 
definite and practical end. 

“What do you think of it, sir? ” they both asked. 

“Tt would be robbing you of the credit of the case if 
1 were to presume to help you,” remarked my friend. 
“You are doing so well now that it would be a pity for 
any one to interfere.” ‘There was a world of sarcasm in 
his voice as he spoke. “If you will let me know how 
your investigations go,” he continued, “I shall be happy 
to give youany help Ican. Inthe meantime, I should 
like to speak to the constable who found the body. Can 
you give me his name and address?” 

Lestrade glanced at his note-book. 

“John Rance,” he said. “ He’s off duty now. You 
will find him at 46 Audley Court, Kennington Park 
Gate.” Holmes took a note of the address, 


“Come along, doctor,” he said; “we shall go and 
look him up. I'll tell you one thing which may help you 
in the case,” he continued, turning to the two detectives. 
“There has been murder done, and the murderer was 
aman. He was more than six feet high, was in the 
prime of life, had small feet for his height, wore coarse, 
square-toed boots, and smoked a Trichinopoly cigar. - 
He came here with his victim in a four-wheeled cab, 
which was drawn by a horse with three old shoes and 
one new one on his off fore-leg. In all probability the 
murderer had a florid face, and the finger-nails of his 
right hand were remarkably long. These are only a few 
indications, but they may assist you.” 

Lestrade and Gregson glanced at each other with an 
incredulous smile. 

“Tf this man was murdered, how was it done?” asked 
the former. 

“Poison,” said Sherlock Holmes, curtly, and strode 
off. “One other thing, Lestrade,” he added, turning 
round at the door: ‘’‘ Rache’ is the German for ‘re- 
venge’; so don’t lose your time looking for Miss 

With which Parthian shot he walked away, leaving 
the two rivals open-mouthed behind him, 


It was one o'clock when we left No. 3 Lauriston 
Gardens. Sherlock Holmes led me to the nearest tel- 
egraph office, whence he dispatched a long telegram. 
He then hailed a cab, and ordered the driver to take us 
to the address given us by Lestrade. 

“There is nothing like first-hand evidence,” he re- 
marked ; “as a matter of fact, my mind is entirely made 
up upon the case, but still we may as well learn all that 
is to be learned.” 

“You amaze me, Holmes,” said I. “Surely you are 
not as sure as you pretend to be of all those particulars 
which you gave.” 

“There’s no room for a mistake,” he answered. 
“The very first thing which I observed on arriving 
there was that a cab had made two ruts with its wheels 
close to the curb. Now, up to last night, we have had 
no rain for a week, so that those wheels, which left such 
a deep impression, must have been there during the 
night. There were the marks of a horse’s hoofs, too, 
the outline of one of which was far more clearly cut than 
that of the other three, showing that that was a new 
shoe. Since the cab was there after the rain began, and 
was not there at any time during the morning—I have 



Gregson’s word for that—it follows that it must have 
been there during the night, and, therefore, that it 
brought those two individuals to the house.” 

“That seems simple enough,” said I; “‘ but how about 
the other man’s height? ” 

“Why, the height of a man, in nine cases out of ten, 
can be told from the length of his stride. It is a simple 
calculation enough, though there is no use my boring 
you with figures. I had this fellow’s stride, both on the » 
clay outside and on the dust within. Then I had a. 
way of checking my calculation. When a man writes 
on a wall, his instinct leads him to write about the level 
of his own eyes. Now, that writing was just over six 
feet from the ground. It was child’s play.” _ 

“‘And his age?” I asked. 

“Well, if a man can stride four and a half feet with. 
out the smallest effort, he can’t be quite in the sere and 
yellow. That was the breadth of a puddle on the 
garden-walk which he had evidently walked across. 
Patent-leather boots had gone round and Square-toes 
had hopped over. ‘There is no mystery about it at all. 
I am simply applying to ordinary life a few of those 
precepts of observation and deduction which I advo- 
cated in thatarticle. Is there anything else that puzzles 

“The finger-nails and the Trichinopoly,” I suggested. 

“The writing on the wall was done with a man’s fore- 
finger dipped in blood. My glass allowed me to observe 
that the plaster was slightly scratched in doing it, which 
would not have been the case if the man’s nail had been 
trimmed. J gathered up some scattered ash from the 


floor. It was dark in color and flaky—such an ash as 
- is only made by a Trichinopoly. I have made a spe- 
cial study of cigar-ashes—in fact, I have written a mon- 
ograph upon the subject. I flatter myself that I can 
distinguish at a glance the ash of any known brand 
either of cigar or of tobacco. It is just in such details 
that the skilled detective differs from the Gregson and 
Lestrade type.” 

“ And the florid face?” I asked. 

“ Ah, that was a more daring shot, though I have no 
doubt that I was right. You must not ask me that at 
the present state of the affair.” 

I passed my hand over my brow. 

“ My head is in a whirl,” I remarked; “the more one 
thinks of it, the more mysterious it grows. How came 
these two men—if there were two men—into an empty 
house? What has become of the cabman who drove 
them? Howcould one man compel another to take 
poison? Where did the blood come from? What was 
the object of the murderer, since robbery had no part in 
it? How came the woman’s ring there? Above all, 
why should the second man write up the German word 
RACHE before decamping? I confess that I cannot see 
any possible way of reconciling all these facts.” 

My companion smiled approvingly. 

“You sum up the difficulties of the situation succinctly 
and well,” he said. ‘ There is much that is still obscure, 
though I have quite made up my mind on the main 
facts. As to poor Lestrade’s discovery, it was simply 
a blind intended to put the police upon a wrong track, 
by suggesting socialism and secret societies. It was not 


dene bya German. The A, if you noticed, was printed 
somewhat after the German fashion. Now a real Ger. 
man invariably prints in the Latin character, so that we 
may safely say that this was not written by one, but by 
a clumsy imitator, who overdid his part. It was simply — 
a ruse, to divert inquiry into a wrong channel. I’m not 
going to tell you much more of the case, doctor. You 
know a conjurer gets no credit when once he has ex. 
plained his trick, and if I show you too much of my 
method of working, you will come to the conclusion 
that I am a very ordinary individual after all.” 

“T shall never do that,” I answered; “you have 
brought detection as near an exact science as it ever 
will be brought in this world.” 

My companion flushed up with pleasure at my wordg 
and the earnest way in which I uttered them. I had 
already observed that he was as sensitive to flattery on 
the score of his art as any girl could be of her beauty. 

“T'll tell you one other thing,” he said. “ Patent. 
leathers and Square-toes came in the same cab, and 
they walked down the pathway together as friendly ag 
possible—arm ia arm, in all probability. When they 
got inside they walked up and down the room—or, 
tather, Patent-leathers stood still, while Square-toeg 
walked up and down. I could read all that in the dust; 
and I could read that, as he walked, he grew more and 
more excited, That is shown by the increased length 
of his strides. He was talking all the while, and work. 
ing himself up, no doubt, into a fury. Then the tragedy 
eccurred. I’ve told you all I know myself, now, for 
the rest is mere surmise and conjecture. We have a 


good working basis, however, on which to start. We 
must hurry up, for I want to go to Halle’s concert, to 
hear Norman Neruda, this afternoon.” 

This conversation had occurred while our cab had 
been threading its way through a long succession of 
dingy streets and dreary by-ways. In the dingiest and 
dreariest of them our driver suddenly came to a stand. | 

“That’s Audley Court in there,” he said, pointing to a 
narrow slit in the line of a dead-colored brick. ‘“ You'll 
find me here when you come back.” 

Audley Court was not an aitractive locality. The 
narrow passage led us into a quadrangle paved with 
flags and lined by sordid dwellings. We picked our 
way among groups of dirty children and through lines 
of discolored linen until we came to No. 46, the door of 
which was decorated with a small slip of brass, on which 
the name Rance was engraved. On inquiry we found 
that the constable was in bed, and we were shown into 
a little front parlor, to await his coming. 

He appeared presently, looking a little irritable at 
being disturbed in his slumbers. 

“I made my report at the office,” he said. 

Holmes took a half-sovereign from his pocket, and 
played with it pensively. 

“We thought that we should like to hear it all from 
your own lips,” he said. 

“T shall be most happy to tell you anything I can,” 
the constable answered, with his eyes upon the little 
golden disk. 

“Just let me hear it all in your own way, as it oce 



Rance sat down on the horse-hair sofa and knittec 
his brows, as though determined not to omit anything in 
his narrative. 

“T'll tell it ye from the beginning,” he said. “My 
time is from ten at night to six in the morning. At 
eleven there was a fight at the White Hart; but, bar 
that, all was quiet enough on the beat. At one o’clock 
it began to rain, and I met Harry Murcher—him who 
has the Holland Grove beat—and we stood together at 
the corner of Henrietta Street a-talkin’. Presently— 
maybe about two, or a little after—I thought I weld 
take a look round, and see that all was right down the 
Brixtor Road. It was precious dirty and lonely. Not 
asoul did I meet all the way down, though a cab or 
two went past me. I was a-strollin’ down, thinkin’ be- 
tween ourselves how uncommon handy a four of gin 
hot would be, when suddenly a glint of a light caught my 
eye in the window of that same house. Now, I knew 
that them two houses in Lauriston Gardens was empty 
on account of him that owns them, who won’t have the 
drains seed to, though the very last tenant what lived 
in one of them died o’ typhoid fever. I was knocked all 
in a heap, therefore, at seeing a light in the window, 
and I suspected as something was wrong. When I got 
to the door—” : 

“You stopped, and then walked back to the garden 
gate,” my companion interrupted. “ What did you do 
that for?” 7 

Rance gave a violent jump, and stared at Sherlock 
Holmes, with the utmost amazement upon his features. 

“Why, that’s true, sir,” he said: “though how you 


come to know it, Heaven only knows! Ye seq when 
I got up to the door, it was so still and so lonesome that 
[ thought I’d be none the worse for some one with me, 
I ain’t afeard of anything on this side o’ the grave; but 
I thought that maybe it was him that died o’ the typhoid 
inspecting the drains what killed him. The thought 
gave me a kind o’ turn, and I walked back to the gate 
to see if I could see Murcher’s lantern, but there wasn’t 
no sign of him nor of any one else.” 

“There was no one in the street ?” 

“ Not a livin’ soul, sir, nor as much as a dog. Then 
I pulled myself together and went back and pushed 
the door open. All was quiet inside, so I went into the 
room where the light was a-burnin’. There was a can- 
dle flickerin’ on the mantel-piece—a red wax one—and 
by its light I saw—” 

“Yes, I know all that you saw. You walked round 
the room several times, and you knelt down by the body, 
and then you walked through and tried the kitchen 
door, and then—” 

John Rance sprang to his feet with a frightened face 
and suspicion in his eyes. 

“Where was you hid to see all that? ’he cried. “It 
seems to me that you knows a deal more than you 

Holmes laughed, and threw his card across the table 
to the constable. 

“Don’t get arresting me for the murder,” he said. 
“T am one of the hounds, and not the wolf; Mr. Greg- 
son or Mr. Lestrade will answer for that. Go on, 
though. What did you do next?” 


Rance resumed his seat, without, however, losing his 
mystified expression. 

“I went back to the gate and sounded my whistle. 
That brought Murcher and two more to the spot.” 

“Was the street empty, then?” 

“Well, it was, as far as anybody that could be of any 
good goes.” 

“What do you mean?” 

The constable’s features broadened into a grin. 

“T’ve seen many a drunk chap in my time,” he said, 
“but never any one so cryin’ drunk as that cove. He 
was at the gate when I came out, a-leanin’ up agin the 
railin’s and a-singin’ at the pitch of his lungs about 
Columbine’s New-fangled Banner, or some such stuff. 
He couldn’t stand, far less help.” 

“What sort of a man was he?” asked Sherlock 
Holmes. ° 

John Rance appeared to be somewhat irritated at this 

“He was an uncommon drunk sort o’ man,” he said. 
“He'd ha’ found hisself in the station if we hadn’t been 
so took up.” 

“His face—his dress—didn’t you notice them?” 
Holmes broke in impatiently. 

“T should think I did notice them, seeing that I had 
to prop him up—me and Murcher between us. He 
was a long chap, with a red face, the lower part muffled 

“That will do,” cried Holmes. ‘“ What became of 

him? ” 

“We'd enough to do without lookin’ after him,” the 


policeman said, in an aggrieved voice. “I'll wager he 
found his way home all nght.” 

“ How was he dressed ? ” 

“A brown overcoat.” 

“Had he a whip in his hand?” 

“A whip—no.” 

“He must have left it behind,” muttered my com- 
panion. “You didn’t happen to see or hear a cab 
after that?” 

‘é No.” 

“There’s a half-sovereign for you,” my companion 
said, standing up and taking his hat. “I am afraid, 
Rance, that you will never rise in the force. That head 
of yours should be for use as well as ornament. You 
might have gained your sergeant’s stripes last night. 
The man whom you held in your hands is the man who 
holds the clue of this mystery, and whom we are seek- 
ing. There is no use of arguing about it now; I tell 
you that it isso. Come along, doctor.” 

We started off for the cab together, leaving our in- 
formant incredulous, but obviously uncomfortable. 

“The blundering fool!” Holmes said, bitterly, as we 
drove back to our lodgings. “ Just to think of his hav- 
ing such an incomparable bit of good luck, and not tak- 
ing advantage of it.” 

“TI am rather in the dark still. It is true that the 
description of this man tallies with your idea of the 
second party in this mystery. But why should he come 
back to the house after leaving it? This is not the 
way of criminals.” 

“The ring, man, the ring; that was what he came 


back for. If we have no other way of catching him, 
we can always bait our line with the ring. I shall have 
him, doctor—I’ll lay you two to one that I have him. 
I must thank you for it all. I might not have gone but 
for you, and so have missed the finest study I ever came 
across; a study in scarlet, eh? Why shouldn’t we use 
alittle art jargon? ‘There’s the scarlet thread of murder 
running through the colorless skein of life, and our duty 
is to unravel it, and isolate it, and expose every inch of 
it. And now for lunch, and then for Norman Neruda. 
Her attack and her bowing are splendid. What’s that 
little thing of Chopin’s she plays so magnificently: Tra- 

Leaning back in the cab, this amateur blood-hound 
caroled away like a lark, while I meditated upon the 
many-sidedness of the human mind. 


Our morning’s exertions had been too much tor my 
weak health, and I was tired out in the afternoon. 
After Holmes’s departure for the concert, I lay down 
upon the sofa and endeavored to get a couple of hours’ 
sleep. It was a useless attempt. My mind had been too 
much excited by all that had occurred, and the strangest 
fancies and surmises crowded into it. Every time that 
I closed my eyes I saw before me the distorted, baboon- 
like countenance of the murdered man. So sinister 
was the impression which that face produced upon me 
that I found it difficult to feel anything but gratitude 
for him who had removed its owner from the world. If 
ever human features bespoke vice of the most malignant 
type, they were certainly those of Enoch J. Drebber, of 
Cleveland. Still, I recognized that justice must be done, 
and that the depravity of the victim was no condone- 
ment in the eyes of the law. 

The more I thought of it the more extraordinary did 
my companion’s hypothesis, that the man had been 
poisoned, appear. I remember how he had sniffed his 
lips, and had no doubt that he had detected something 
which had given rise to the idea, Then, again, if not 
poison, what had caused the man’s death, since there 



was neither wound nor marks of strangulation? But, 
on the other hand, whose blood was that which lay so 
thickly upon the floor? There were no signs of a strug- 
gle, nor had the victim any weapon with which he might 
have wounded an antagonist. As long as all these ques- 
tions were unsolved, I felt that sleep would be no easy 
matter, either for Holmes or myself. His quiet, self- 
confident manner convinced me that he had already 
formed a theory which explained all the facts, though 
what it was I could not for an instant conjecture. 

He was very late in returning—so late that I knew 
that the concert could not have detained him all the 
time. Dinner was on the table before he appeared. 

“Tt was magnificent,” he said, as he took his seat. 
“Do you remember what Darwin says about music? 
He claims that the power of producing and appreciating 
it existed among the human race long before the power 
of speech was arrived at. Perhaps that is why we are 
so subtly influenced by it. There are vague memories 
in our souls of those misty centuries when the world was 
in its childhood.” 

“That’s rather a broad idea,” I remarked. 

“One’s idea must be as broad as Nature if they are 
to interpret Nature,” he answered. ‘“What’s the matter ? 
Yow’re not looking quite yourself. This Brixton Road 
affair has upset you.” 

“To tell the truth, it has,” I said. “I ought to be 
more case-hardened after my Afghan experiences. I 
saw my own comrades hacked to pieces at Maiwand 
without losing my nerve.” 

“IT can understand. There is a mystery about this 



which stimulates the imagination; where there is no im- 
agination there is no horror. Have you seen the evene 

ing paper?” 

‘ No.” 

“Tt gives a fairly good account of the affair. It 
does not mention the fact that when the man was raised 
up a woman’s wedding-ring fell upon the floor. It is 
just as well it does not.” 

‘é Why?P » 

“Took at this advertisement,” he answered. “I had 
one sent to every paper this morning immediately after 
the affair.” 

He threw the paper across to me, and I glanced at 
the place indicated. It was the first announcement in 

_ the “ Found ” column. 

“In Brixton Road,” it ran, “a plain gold wedding- 

: ring, found in the roadway between the White Hart 

Tavern and Holland Grove. Apply Dr. Watson, 221B 
Baker Street, between eight and nine this evening.” 

“Excuse my using your name,” he said. “If I used 
my own some one of these dunderheads would recog- 
nize it, and want to meddle in the affair.” 

That is all right,” I answered. “ But supposing any 
one applies, I have no ring.” 

“Oh, yes, you have,” said he, handing me one. 
“ This will do very well. It is almost a fac-simile.” 

“ And who do you expect will answer this advertise- 

“Why, the man in the brown coat—our florid friend 
with the square toes. If he does not come himself he 
will send an accomplice.” 


‘Would he not consider it as too dangerous?” 

‘‘Not at all. If my view of the case is correct, and 
I have every reason to believe that it is, this man would 
rather risk anything than lose the ring. According to 
my notion he dropped it while stooping over Drebber’s 
body, and did not miss it at the time. After leaving 
the house he discovered his loss, and hurried back, but 
found the police already in possession, owing to his own 
folly in leaving the candle burning. He had to pretend 
te be drunk in order to allay the suspicions which might 
have been aroused by his appearance at the gate. Now 
put yourself in that man’s place. On thinking the 
matter over, it must have occurred to him that it was 
possible that he had lost the ring in the road after leav- 
ing the house. What would he do then? He would 
eagerly look out for the evening papers, in the hope of 
secing it among the articles found. His eye, of course, 
would light upon this. He would be overjoyed. Why 
should he fear a trap? ‘There would be no reason in 
his eyes why the finding of the ring should be connected 
with the murder. He would come. He will come. 
You shall see him within an hour.” 

“ And then?” I asked. 

“Oh, you can leave me to deal with him then. Have 
you any arms?” 

“T have my old service revolver and a few cartridges.” 

“You had better clean it and load it. He will bea 
desperate man, and though I shall take him unawares, 
it is as well to be ready for anything.” 

I went to my bedroom and followed his advice. 
When I returned with the pistol the table had been 


cleared, and Holmes was engaged in his favorite oc- 
cupation of scraping upon his violin, 

« The plot thickens,” he said, as I entered. “I have 
just had an answer to my American telegram. My view 
of the case is the correct one.” 

“ And that is?” I asked, eagerly. 

“My fiddle would be the better for new strings,” he 
remarked. ‘Put your pistol in your pocket. When the 
fellow comes, speak to him in an ordinary way. Leave 
the rest to me. Don’t frighten him by looking at him 
too hard.” 

“Tt is eight o’clock now,” I said, glancing at my 

“Ves. He will probably be here in a few minutes. 
Open the door slightly. That will do. Now -put the 
. key on the inside. Thank you! This is a queer old 
book I picked up at a stall yesterday—‘ De Jure inter 
Gentes ’—published in Latin at Liege in the Lowlands, 
in 1€42. Charles’s head was still firm on his shoulders 
when this little brown-backed volume was struck off.” 

“Who is the printer ?” 

* Philippe de Croy, whoever he may have been. On 
the fly-leaf, in very faded ink, is written, ‘Ex libris 
Guliolmi Whyte. I wonder who William Whyte was? 
Some pragmatical seventeenth-century lawyer, I sup- 
pese. His writing has a legal twist about it. Here 
comes our man, I think.” 

As he spoke there was a sharp ring at the bell. 
Sherlock Holmes rose softly, and moved his chair in the 
direction of the door. We heard the servant pass along 
(ae hall, and the sharp click of the latch as she opened it. 


“Does Dr. Watson live here?” asked a clear but 
rather harsh voice. We could not hear the servant's 
reply, but the door closed, and some one began to 
ascend the stairs. The footfall was an uncertain and 
shuffling one. A look of surprise passed over the face 
cf my companion as he listened to it. It came slowly 
along the passage, and there was a feeble tap at the | 

“ Come in!” I cried. 

At my summons, instead of .e man of violence 
whom we expected, a very old and wrinkled woman 
hobbled into the apartment. She appeared to be dazzled 
by the sudden blaze of light, and, after dropping a 
curtsey, she stood blinking at us with her bleared eyes 
and fumbling in her pocket with nervous, shaky fingers. 
I glanced at my companion, and his face had assumed 
such a disconsolate expression that it was all I could do 
to keep my countenance. The old crone drew out an - 
evening paper, and pointed at our advertisement. 

“Ti’s this as has brought me, good gentlemen,” she 
said, dropping another curtsey; “a gold wedding-ring 
in the Brixton Road. It belongs to my girl, Sally, as 
was married only this time twelvemonth, which her 
husband is steward aboard a Union boat, and what he’d 
say if he come ’ome and found her without her ring is 
more than I can think, he being short enough at the best 
o’ times, but more especially when he has the drink. If 
it please you, she went to the circus last night along 

“Ys that her ring ?” I asked, 

“The Lord be thanked!” cried the old woman. 


“Sally will be a glad woman this night. That’s 
the ring.’’ 

‘And what may your address be?’’ I inquired, 
taking up a pencil. 

‘‘13 Duncan Street, Houndsditch. A weary way 
from here.’’ 

‘‘The Brixton Road does not lie between any cir- 
cus and Houndsditch,’’ said Sherlock Holmes, 

‘‘The gentleman asked me for my address,’’ she 
said. ‘‘Sally lives in lodgings at 3 Mayfield Place, 

‘*And your name is—”’ 

‘“My name is Sawyer—hers is Dennis, which Tom 
Dennis married her—and a smart, clean lad, too, as 
long as he’s at sea, and no steward in the company 
more thought of; but when on shore, what with the 
women and what with liquor-shops—”’ 

‘“Here is your ring, Mrs. Sawyer,’’ I interrupted, 
in obedience to a sign from my companion; ‘‘it 
clearly belongs to your daughter, and I am glad to 
be able to restore it to the rightful owner.’’ 

With many mumbled blessings and protestations 
of gratitude, the old crone packed it away in her 
pocket, and shuffled off down the stairs. Sherlock 
Holmes sprang to his feet the moment she was gone 
and rushed into his room. He returned in a few 
seconds enveloped in an ulster and a cravat. 

‘‘T’ll follow her,’’ he said, hurriedly; ‘‘she must 
be an accomplice, and will lead me tohim. Wait 
up for me,”’ 


The hall door had hardly slammed behind our 
visitor before Holmes had descended the stair. 
Looking through the window I could see her walk- 
ing feebly along the other side, while her pursuer 
dogged her some little distance behind. 

‘‘Hither his whole theory is incorrect,’’ I thought 
to myself, ‘‘or else he will be led now to the heart 
of the mystery.”’ 

There was no need for him to ask me to wait up 
for him, for I felt that sleep was impossible until I — 
heard the result of his adventure. 

It was close upon nine when he set out. I had no 
idea how long he might be, but I sat stolidly puffing 
at my pipe and skipping over the pages of Henri 
Murger’s ‘‘Vie de Bohéme.’’ Ten o’clock passed, 
and I heard the footsteps of the maids as they pat- 
tered off to bed. Eleven, and the more stately tread 
of the landlady passed by my door, bound for the ~ 
same destination. It was close upon twelve before I 
heard the sharp sound of his latch key. The instant 
he entered I saw by his face that he had not been 
successful. Amusement and chagrin seemed to be 
struggling for the mastery, until the former sudden- 
ly carried the day, and he burst into a hearty 

‘‘I wouldn’t have the Scotland Yarders know it 
for the world,’’ he cried, dropping into his chair; 
‘IT have chaffed them so much that they would 
never have let me hear the end of it. I can afford to 
laugh, because I know that I will be even with 
them in the long run.”’ 


‘(What is it, then?’’ I asked. 

‘‘Oh, I don’t mind telling a story against myself. 
That creature had gone a little way when she began 
to limp and show every sign of being foot-sore. 
Presently she came to a halt and hailed a four- 
wheeler which was passing. I managed to be close 
to her so as to hear the address, but-I need not have 
been so anxious, for she sung it out loud enough to 
be heard at the other side of the street, ‘Drive to 13 
Duncan Street, Houndsditch,’ she cried. This be- 
_ gins to look genuine, I thought, and having seen 
her safely inside I perched myself behind. That’s 
an art which every detective should be an expert at. 
Well, away we rattled, and never drew rein until we 
reached the street in question. I hopped off before 
we came to the door, and strolled down the street 
in an easy, lounging way. I saw the cab pull up. 
The driver jumped down and I saw him open the 
door and stand expectantly. Nothing came out, 
though. When I reached him he was groping about 
frantically in the empty cab, and giving vent to the 
finest assorted collection of oaths that ever IJ listened 
to. There was no sign or trace of his passenger, 
and I fear it will be sometime before he gets his 
fare. On inquiring at No. 13 I found that the house 
belonged to a respectable paper-hanger named Kes- 
wick, and that no one of the name either of Sawyer 
or Dennis had ever been heard of there.’’ 

‘‘VYou don’t mea to say,’’ I cried, in amazement, 
‘that that tottering, feeble old woman was able to 


get out of the cab while it was in motion, without 
either you or the driver seeing her?”’’ 

‘*Old woman be d——d!’’ said Sherlock Holmes, 
sharply. ‘‘Wewere the old women to be so taken in. 
It must have been a young man, and an active one, 
too, besides being an incomparable actor. The get- 
up was inimitable. He saw that he was followed, 
no doubt, and used this means of giving me the slip. 
It shows that the man we are after is not as lonely 
as I imagited he was, but has friends who are ready 
to risk something for him. Now, doctor, you are 
looking done up. ‘Take my advice and turn in.’’ 

I was certainly feeling very weary, so I obeyed 
his injunction. I left Holmes seated in front of the 
smoldering fire, and long into the watches of the 
night I heard the low, melancholy wailings of his 
violin, and knew that he was still pondering over 
the strange problem which he had set himself to un- 


THE papers next day were full of the “Brixton Mys- 
tery,” as they termed it. Each had a long account of 
the affair, and some had leaders upon it in addition. 
There was some information in them which was new to 
me. I still retain in my scrap-book numerous clippings 
and extracts bearing upon the case. Here is a conden- 
sation of a few of them: 

The “Daily Telegraph” remarked that in the history 
of ‘crime there had seldom been a tragedy which pre- 
sented stranger features. The German name of the 
victim, the absence of all other motive, and the sinister 
inscription on the wall, all pointed to its perpetration by 
political refugees and revolutionists. The Socialists had 
many branches in America, and the deceased had, no 
doubt, infringed their unwritten laws and been traced 
down by them. After alluding airily to the Vehmge- 
richt, aqua tofana, Carbonari, the Marchioness de Brin- 
villiers, the Darwinian theory, the principles of Malthus, 
and the Ratcliff Highway murders, the article concluded 
by admonishing the government and advocating a closer 
watch over foreigners in England. 

The “Standard” commented upon the fact that law- 
less outrages of the sort usually occurred under a liberal 
administration. They arose from the unsettling of the 



minds of the masses, and the consequent weakening of 
all authority. The deceased was an American gentle- 
man who had been residing for some weeks in the 
metropolis. He had stayed at the boarding-house of 
Mme. Charpentier, in Torquay Terrace, Camberwell. 
He was accompanied in his travels by his private secre- 
tary, Mr. Joseph Stangerson. The two bid adieu to 
their landlady upon Tuesday, the 4th inst., and de- 
parted to Euston Station with the avowed intention of 
catching the Liverpool express. They were afterward 
seen together on the platform. Nothing more is known 
of them until Mr. Drebber’s body was, as recorded, dis- 
covered in an empty house in the Brixton Road, many 
miles from Euston. How he came there, or how hz 
met his fate, are questions which are still involved in 
mystery. Nothing is known of the whereabouts of 
Stangerson. We are glad to learn that Mr. Lestrade 
and Mr. Gregson, of Scotland Yard, are both engaged 
upon the case, and it is confidently anticipated that these 
well-known officers will speedily throw light upon the- 


The Saily New ” observed that there was no 
doubt as to the crime being a political one. The des- 
potism and hatred of Liberalism which animated the 
Continental governments had had the effect of driving 
to our shores a number of men who might have made 
excellent citizens were they not soured by the recollec- 
tion of all that they had undergone. Among these men 
there was a stringent code of honor, any infringement 
of which was punished by death. Every effort shouid 
‘be made to find the secretary, Stangerson, and to ax 


certain some particulars of the habits of the deceased. 
A great step had been gained by the discovery of the 
address of the house at which he had boarded—a result 
which was entirely due to the acuteness and energy of 
Mr. Gregson, of Scotland Yard. 

Sherlock Holmes and I read these notices over to- 
gether at breakfast, and they appeared to afford him 
considerable amusement. 

“T told you that, whatever happened, Lestrade and 
Gregson would be sure to score.” 

“That depends on how it turns out.” 

“Oh, bless you, it doesn’t matter in the least. If 
the man is caught, it will be on account of their exer- 
tions ; if he escapes, it will be 7 spzte of their exertions. 
It’s heads I win and tails you lose. Whatever they do, 
they will have followers. ‘Un sot trouve toujours un 
plus sot qui l’admire’” 

“What on earth is this? ” I cried, for at this moment 
there came the pattering of many steps in the hall and 
on the stairs, accompanied by audible expressions of 
disgust upon the part of our landlady. 

“It’s the Baker Street division of the detective police 
force,” said my companion, gravely; and as he spoke 
there rushed into the room half a dozen of the dirtiest 
and most ragged street arabs that ever I clapped eyes 

“*Tention!” cried Holmes, in a sharp tone, and the 
six dirty little scoundrels stood in a line like so many 
disreputable statuettes. “In future you shall send up 
Wiggins alone to report, and the rest of you must wait 
in the street. Have you found it, Wiggins? ” 


“No, sir, we hain’t,” said one of the youths. 

“T hardly expected you would. You must keep on 
until you do. Here are your wages.” He handed 
each of them a shilling. ‘‘ Now, off you go, and come 
back with a better report next time.” 

He waved his hand, and they scampered away down- 
stairs like so many rats, and we heard their shrill voices 
next moment in the street. 

“There’s more work to be got out of one of those 
little beggars than out of a dozen of the force,” Holmes 
remarked. ‘‘The mere sight of an official-looking per- 
son seals men’s lips. ‘These youngsters, however, go 
everywhere and hear everything. They are as sharp 
as needles, too; all they want is organization.” 

“Ts it on this Brixton case that you are employing 
them?” I asked. 

“Yes; there is a point which I wish to ascertain. It 
is merelpa matter of time. Halloo! we are going to 
hear some news now with a vengeance! Here is 
Gregson coming down the road with beatitude written 
upon every feature of his face. Bound for us, I know. 
Yes, he is stopping. ‘There he is!” 

There was a violent peal at the bell, and in a 
few seconds the fair-haired detective came up the 
stairs, three steps at a time, and burst into our sitting- 

“My dear fellow,” he cried, wringing Holmes’s unre- 
sponsive hand, “congratulate me! I have made the 
whole thing as clear as day.” : 

A shade of anxiety seemed to me to cross my com. 
panion’s expressive face. } 


“Do you mean that you are on the right track?” he 

“The right track! Why, sir, we have the maz under 
lock and key.” 

“ And his name is ?” 

“ Arthur Charpentier, sub-lieutenant in her majesty’s 
navy,” cried Gregson, pompously, rubbing his fat hands 
and inflating his chest. 

Sherlock Holmes gave a sigh of relief and relaxed 
into a smile. 

“Take a seat and try one of these cigars,” he said. 
“We are anxious to know how you managed it. Will 
you have some whisky and water?” 

“JT don’t mind if I do,” the detective answered. 
“The tremendous exertions which I have gone through 
during the last day or two have worn me out. Not so 
much bodily exertion, you understand, as the strain 
upon the mind. You will appreciate that, Mr. Sherlock 
Holmes, for we are both brain-workers.” 

“You do me too much honor,” said Holmes, gravely. 
“Let us hear how you arrived at this most gratifying 

The detective seated himself in the arm-chair and 
puffed complacently at his cigar. Then suddenly he 
slapped his thigh in a paroxysm of amusement. 

“The fun of it is,” he cried, “that that fool Lestrade, 
who thinks himself so smart, has gone off upon the 
wrong track altogether. He is after the secretary, 
Stangerson, who had no more to do with the crime than 
the babe unborn. I have no doubt that he has caught 
him by this time.” 


The idea tickled Gregson so much that he laughed 
until he choked. 

“And how did you get your clew?2” 

“Ah, I'll tell you all about it. Of course, Dr. Wat- 
son, this is strictly between ourselves. The first diffi- 
culty which we had to contend with was the finding of 
this American’s antecedents. Some people would have 
waited until their advertisements were answered, or 
until parties came forward and volunteered informa- 
tion. That is not Tobias Gregson’s way of going to 
work. You remember the hat beside the dead man?” 

“Yes,” said Holmes; “by John Underwood & Sons, 
129 Camberwell Road.” 

Gregson looked quite crest-fallen. 

“T had no idea that you noticed that,” he said. 
“Have you been there?” 


“Ha!” cried Gregson, in a relieved voice; “you 
should never neglect a chance, however small it may - 

“To a great mind nothing is little,” remarked Holmes, 

“Well, I went to Underwood, and asked him if he © 
had sold a hat of that size and description. He looked 
over his books, and came on it at once. He had sent 
the hat to a Mr. Drebber, residing at Charpentier’s 
boarding establishment, Torquay Terrace. Thus I got 
at his address.” 

“Smart—very smart!” murmured Sherlock Holmes. - 

“T next called upon Madame Charpentier,” continued 
the detective. “I found her very pale and distressed. 


fies daughter was in the room, too—an uncommonly 
Sne girl she is, too; she was looking red about the eyes, 
ind her lips trembled as I spoke to her. That didn’t 
escape my notice. I began to smellarat. You know 
the feeling, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, when you come upon 
he right scent—a kind of thrill in your nerves. ‘Have 
you heard of the mysterious death of your late boarder, 
Mr. Enoch J. Drebber, of Cleveland ?’ I asked. 

“The mother nodded. She didn’t seem able to get 
outa word. The daughter burst into tears. I felt more 
than ever that these people knew something of the matter. 

“* At what o’clock did Mr. Drebber leave your house 
for the train?’ I asked. 

“* At eight o’clock,’ she said, gulping in her throat to 
keep down her agitation. ‘ His secretary, Mr. Stanger- 
son, said that there were two trains—one at 9:15 and 
one at 11. He was to catch the first.’ 

“* And was that the last which you saw of him?’ 

“A terrible change came over the woman’s face as I 
asked the question. Her features turned perfectly livid. 
It was some seconds before she could get out the single 
word ‘Yes,’ and when it did come it was in a husky, 
unnatural tone. 

“There was silence for a moment, and then the 
daughter spoke in a calm, clear voice. 

“* No good can ever come of falsehood, mother,’ she 
said. ‘Let us be frank with this gentleman. We aid 
see Mr. Drebber again.’ 

“*God forgive you!’ cried Madame Charpentier, 
throwing up her hands and sinking back in her chair, 
“You have murdered your brother.’ 


“¢ Arthur would rather that we spoke the truth,’ the 
girl answered, firmly. 

“*Vou had best tell me all about it now,’ I said, 
‘Half confidences are worse than none. Besides, you 
do not know how much we know of it.’ 

“On your head be it, Alice!’ cried her mother; and 
then, turning to me, ‘I will tell you all, sir. Do not 
imagine that my agitation on behalf of my son arises 
from any fear lest he should have had a hand in this 
terrible affair. He is utterly innocent of it. My dread 
is, however, that in your eyes and in the eyes of others 
he may appear to be compromised. That, however, is 
surely impossible. His high character, his profession, 
his antecedents would all forbid it.’ 

“*Vour best way is to make a clean breast of the 
facts,’ I answered. “Depend upon it, if your son is in- 
nocent he will be none the worse.’ 

“‘* Perhaps, Alice, you had better leave us together,’ 
she said, and her daughter withdrew. ‘ Now, sir,’ she 
continued, ‘I had no intention of telling you all this, 
but since my poor daughter has disclosed it, I have no 
alternative. Having once decided to speak, I will tell 
you all without omitting any particular.’ 

“Tt is your wisest course,’ said I. | 

“Mr. Drebber has been with us nearly three weeks. 
He and his secretary, Mr. Stangerson, had been travel- 
ing on the Continent. I noticed a “Copenhagen” 
label upon each of their trunks, showing that that had 
been their last stopping-place. Stangerson was a quiet, 
reserved man, but his employer, I am sorry to say, was 
far otherwise. He was coarse in his habits and brutish 


in his ways. The very night of his arrival he became 
very much the worse for drink, and, indeed, after twelve 
o’clock in the day he could hardly ever be said to be 
sober. His manners toward the maid-servants were 
disgustingly free and familiar. Worst of all, he speedily 
assumed the same attitude toward my daughter, Alice, 
and spoke to her more than once in a way which, fort. 
unately, she is too innocent to understand. On one 
occasion he actually seized her in his arms and em. 
braced her—an outrage which caused his own secretary 
to reproach him for lis unmanly conduct.’ 

“*But why did you stand all this?’ I asked. ‘] 
suppose that you can get rid of your boarders when you 

“Mrs. Charpentier blushed at my pertinent question. 

“*Would to God that I had given him notice on the 
very day he came,’ she said. ‘ But it was a sore tempta- 
tion. They were paying a pound a day each—fourteen 
pounds a week, and this is a slack season. I am a 
widow, and my boy in the navy has cost me much. I 
grudged to lose the money. I acted forthe best. This 
last was too much, however, and I gave him notice to 
leave on account of it. That was the reason of his 

“* Well? * 

““My heart grew light when I saw him drive away. 
My son is on leave just now, but I did not tell him 
anything of this, for his temper is violent, and he is 
passionately fond of his sister. When I closed the door 
behind them a load seemed to be lifted from my mind. 
Alas! in less than an hour there was a ring at the bell, 


and I learned that Mr. Drebber had returned. He was 
much excited, and evidently the worse for drink. He 
forced his way into the room where I was sitting with 
my daughter, and made some incoherent remark about 
having missed his train. He then turned to Alice, and, 
before my very face, proposed to her that she should 
fly with him. “You are of age,” he said, “and there 
is no law to stop you. I have money enough and to 
spare. Never mind the old girl here, but come along 
with me now straight away. You shall live like a prin- 
cess.” Poor Alice was so frightened that she shrunk 
away from him, but he caught her by the wrist and 
endeavored to draw her toward the door. I screamed, 
and at that moment my son Arthur came into the room. 
What happened then I do not know. I heard oaths 
and the confused sounds of a scuffle. I was too terri- 
fied to raise my head. When I did look up, I saw 
Arthur standing in the doorway laughing, with a stick | 
in his hand. “TI don’t think that fine fellow will trouble 
us again,” he said. “I will just go after him and see 
what he does with himself.” With those words he took 
his hat and started off down the street. The next morn- 
ing we heard of Mr. Drebber’s mysterious death.’ 

“This statement came from Mrs. Charpentier’s lips 
with many gasps and pauses. At times she spoke sc 
low that I could hardly catch the words. I made short 
hand notes of all that she said, however, so that there 
_ should be no possibility of a mistake.” 

“It’s quite exciting,” said Sherlock Holmes, with a 
yawn. ‘“‘ What happened next ?” 

“When Mrs. Charpentier paused,” the detective oon 


tinued, “I saw that the whole case hung upon one 
point. Fixing her with my eye in a way which I always 
found effective with women, I asked her at what hour 
her son returned. 

***T do not know,’ she answered. 

“* Not know ?’ 

“*No; he has a latch-key, and let himself in.’ 

“* After you went to bed?’ 

ae Ves.’ 

“* When did you go to bed ?’ 

“* About eleven.’ 

“‘*So your son was gone at least two hours?’ 

ce Yes.’ 

“** Possibly four or five? ’ 

ae Yes.’ 

““* What was he doing during that time?” 

“*T do not know,’ she answered, turning white to her 
very lips. 

“ Of course, after that there was nothing more to be 
done. I feund out where Lieutenant Charpentier was, 
took two officers with me, and arrested him. When I 
touched him on the shoulder and warned him to come 
quietly with us, he answered us as bold as brass: ‘I 
suppose you are arresting me for being concerned in the 
death of that scoundrel Drebber,’ he said. We had said 
nothing to him about it, so that his alluding to it had 
a most suspicious aspect.” 

“Very,” said Holmes. 

“He still carried the heavy stick which the mother 
described him as having with him when he followed 
Drebber. It was a stout oak cudgel.” 


“What is your theory, then ?” 

“Well, my theory is that he followed Drebber as far 
as the Brixton Road. When there, a fresh altercation 
arose between them, in the course of which Drebber 
received a blow from the stick, in the pit of the stomach, 
perhaps, which killed him without leaving any mark. 
The night was so wet that no one was about, so Char- 
pentier dragged the body of his victim into the empty 
house. As to the candle, and the blood, and the writ- 
ing on the wall, and the ring, they may all be so many 
tricks to throw the police on to the wrong scent.” 

“Well done!” said Holmes, in an encouraging voice. 
“Really, Gregson, you are getting along. We shall 
make something of you yet.” 

“T flatter myself that I have managed it rather neatly,” 
the detective answered, proudly. “The young man 
volunteered a statement, in which he said that after 
following Drebber for some time, the latter perceived | 
him, and took a cab in order to get away from him. 
On his way home he met an old shipmate, and took a 
long walk with him. On being asked where his old 
shipmate lived, he was unable to give any satisfactory 
reply. I think the whole case fits together uncommonly 
well. What amuses me is to think of Lestrade, who 
had started off upon the wrong scent. I am afraid he 
won’t make much of it. Why, by Jove, here’s the very 
man himself!” 

It was indeed Lestrade, who had ascended the stairs 
while we were talking, and who now entered the room. 
The assurance and jauntiness which generally marked 
his demeanor and dress were, however, wanting. His 


face was disturbed and troubled, while his clothes were 
disarranged and untidy. He had evidently come with 
the intention of consulting with Sherlock Holmes, for 
on perceiving his colleague he appeared to be embar- 
rassed and put out. He stood in the center of the room, 
fumbling nervously with his hat, and uncertain what 
to do. ¢ 

“This is a most extraordinary case,” he said, at lastt— 
“a most incomprehensible affair.” 

“Ah, you find it so, Mr. Lestrade!” cried Gregson, 
triumphantly. “I thought you would come to that 
conclusion. Have you managed to find the secretary, 
Mr. Joseph Stangerson? ” 

“The secretary, Mr. Joseph Stangerson,” said Les- 
trade, gravely, “‘was murdered at Halliday’s Private 
Hotel about six o’clock this morning.” 


THE intelligence with which Lestrade greeted us was 
sO momentous and so unexpected that we were all three 
fairly dumfounded. Gregson sprang out of his chair 
and upset the remainder of his whisky and water. I 
stared in silence at Sherlock Holmes, whose lips were 
compressed and his brows drawn down over his eyes. 

“Stangerson, too!” he muttered. “The plot thickens.” 

“It was quite thick enough before,” grumbled Les- 
trade, taking a chair. ‘1 seem to have dropped into a 
sort of council of war.” | 

“ Are you—are you sure of this piece of intelligence? ” 
stammered Gregson. 

“TI have just come from his room,” said Lestrade, 
“‘T was the first to discover what had occurred.” 

“ We have been hearing Gregson’s view of the matter,” 
Holmes observed. ‘“ Would you mind letting us know 
what you have seen and done? ” 

“TI have no objection,” Lestrade answered, seating 
himself. ‘I freely confess that I was of the opinion 
that Stangerson was concerned in the death of Drebber. 
This fresh development has shown me that I was com- 
pletely mistaken. Full of the one idea, I set myself 



to find cut what had become of the secretary. They 
had been seen together at Euston Station about half 
past eight on the evening of the third. At two in the 
morning Drebber had been found in the Brixton Road. 
The question which confronted me was to find out how 
Stangerson had been employed between 8:30 and the 
time of the crime, and what had become of him after- 
ward. I telegraphed to Liverpool, giving a description 
of the man, and warning them to keep a watch upon 
the American boats. I then set to work calling upon 
all the hotels and lodging-houses in the vicinity of Eus- 
ton. You see, I argued that if Drebber and his com- 
panion had become separated, the natural course for the 
latter would be to put up somewhere in the vicinity for 
the night, and then to hang about the station again next 

“They would be likely to agree on some meeting- 
place beforehand,” remarked Holmes. 

“So it proved. I spent the whole of yesterday even- 
ing in making inquiries entirely without avail. This 
morning I began very early, and at eight o’clock I 
reached Halliday’s Private Hotel, in Little George Street. 
On my inquiry as to whether a Mr. Stangerson was liv- 
ing there, they at once answered me in the affirmative. 

«No doubt you are the gentleman he was expecting,’ 
they said. ‘He has been waiting for a gentleman for 
two days.’ 

“* Where is he now?’ I asked. 

“* He is upstairs in bed. He wished to be called at 

“Tt seemed to me that my sudden appearance might 


shake his nerves and lead him to say something un. 
guarded. ‘The Boots volunteered to show me the room; 
it was on the second floor, and there was a small corri- 
dor leading up to it. ‘The Boots pointed out the door 
to me, and was about to go downstairs again, when I 
saw something that made me feel sickish, in spite of my 
twenty years’ experience. From under the door there 
curled a little red ribbon of blood, which had meandered 
across the passage and formed a little pool along the 
skirting at the other side. I gave a cry, which brought 
the Boots back. He nearly fainted when he saw it. 
The door was locked on the inside, but we put our 
shoulders to it and knocked itin. The window of the 
room was open, and beside the window, all huddled up, 
lay the body of a man in his night-dress. He was quite 
dead, and had been for some time, for his limbs were 

rigid and cold. When we turned him over, the Boots _ 

recognized him at once as being the same gentleman 
who had engaged the room under the name of Joseph 
Stangerson. ‘The cause of death was a deep stab in the 
left side, which must have penetrated the heart. And 
now comes the strangest part of the affair. What do 
you suppose was above the murdered man?” 

I felt a creeping of flesh, and a presentiment of com- 
ing horror, even before Sherlock Holmes answered. 

“The word ‘ Rache,’ written in letters of blood,” he 

“That was it,” said Lestrade, in an awe-struck voice ; 4 
and we were all silent for a while. 

There was something so methodical and so incompre- 
hensible about the deeds of this unknown assassin, that 



ft imparted a fresh ghastliness to his crimes. My nerves, 
which were steady enough on the field of battle, tingled 
as I thought of it. 

“The man was seen,” continued Lestrade. ‘ A milk- 
boy, passing on his way to the dairy, happened to wai 
down the lane which leads from the mews at the back 
of the hotel. He noticed that a ladder, which usually 
lay there, was raised against one of the windows of the 
second floor, which was wide open. After passing, he 
looked back and saw a man descend the ladder. He 
came down so quietly and openly that the boy imagined 
him to be some carpenter or joiner at work in the hotel. 
He took no particular notice of him, beyond thinking 
in his own mind that it was early for him to be at work. 
He has an impression that the man was tall, had a red- 
dish face, and was dressed in a long, brownish coat. 
He must have stayed in the room some little time after 
the murder, for we found blood-stained water in the 
basin, where he had washed his hands, and marks on 
the sheets where he had deliberately wiped his knife.” 

I glanced at Holmes on hearing the description of the 
murderer, which tallied so exactly with his own. There 
was, however, no trace of exultation or satisfaction upon 
his face. 

“ Did you find nothing in the room which could fur- 
nish a clew to the murderer ? ” he asked. 

“Nothing. Stangerson had Drebber’s purse in his 
pocket, but it seems that this was usual, as he did all 
the paying. There was eighty-odd pounds in it, but 
nothing had been taken. Whatever the motives of 
these extraordinary-crimes, robbery is certainly not one 


of them. There were no papers or memoranda in the 
murdered man’s pocket, except a single telegram, dated 
from Cleveland about a month ago, and containing the 
words, ‘J. H. is in Europe.” There was no name ap- 
pended to this message.” 

«« And there was nothing else?” Holmes asked. 

‘Nothing of any importance. The man’s novel, with 
which he had read himself to sleep, was lying upon the 
bed, and his pipe was on a chair beside him. There 
was a glass of water on the table, and on the window- 
sill a small chip ointment-box containing a couple of 

Sherlock Holmes sprang from his chair with an ex- 
clamation of delight. ; 

‘‘The last link!” he cried, exultantly, ‘‘My case is 

The two detectives stared at him in amazement. 

‘‘T have now in my hands,” my companion said, 
confidently, ‘‘all the threads which have formed such a 
tangle. There are, of course, details to be filled in, but 
I am as certain of all the main facts, from the time that 
Drebber parted from Stangerson at the station, up to 
the discovery of the body of the latter, as if I had seen 
them with my own eyes. I will give you a proof of my 
knowledge. Could you lay your hand upon those pills?” 

‘“‘T have them,” said Lestrade, producing a small 
white box; ‘‘I took them and the purse and the tele- 
gram, intending to have them put in a place of safety 
at the police station. It was the merest chance my 
taking these pills, for I bound to say that I do not 
attach any importance to them.” 


“Give them here,” said Holmes. “Now, doctor,” 
turning to me, “are those ordinary pills?” 

They certainly were not. They were of a pearly gray 
color, small, round, and almost transparent, against the 
light. | 

“From their lightness and transparency, I should 
imagine that they are soluble in water,” 1 remarked. 

“Precisely so,” answered Holmes. “Now would you 
mind going down and fetching that poor little devil of a 
terrier which has been bad so long, and which the land- 
lady wanted you to put out of its pain yesterday ?” 

I went downstairs and carried the dog upstairs in my 
arms. Its labored breathing and glazing eye showed 
that it was not far fromitsend. Indeed, its snow-white 
muzzle proclaimed that it had already exceeded tho 
usual term of canine existence. I placed it upon a 
cushion on the rug. 

“J will now cut one of these pills in two,” said 
Holmes, and drawing his penknife, he suited the action 
to the word. “One half we return into the box for 
future purposes. The other half I will place in this . 
wine-glass, in which is a teaspoonful of water. You 
perceive that our friend, the doctor, is right, and that it 
readily dissolves.” 7 

“This may be very interesting,” said Lestrade, in the 
injured tone of one who suspects that he is being laughed 
at. “I cannot see, however, what it has to do with the 
death of Mr. Joseph Stangerson.” 

“Patience, my friend, patience! You will find in 
time that it has everything to do with it. I shall now 
add a little milk to make the mixture palatable, and on 


presenting it to the dog we find that he laps it up read- 
ily enough.” 

As he spoke he turned the contents of the wine-glass 
into a saucer and placed it in front of the terrier, who 
speedily licked it dry. Sherlock Holmes’s earnest de- 
meanor had so far convinced us that we all sat in silence, 
watching the animal intently, and expecting some start- 
ling effect. None such appeared, however. The dog 
continued to le stretched upon the cushion, breathing 
in a labored way, but apparently neither the better nor 
the worse for its draught. 

Holmes had taken out his watch, and as minute fol- 
lowed minute without result, an expression of the utmost 
chagrin and disappointment appeared upon his features. 
He gnawed his lip, drummed his fingers upon the table, 
and showed every other symptom of acute impatience. 
So great was his emotion that I felt sincerely sorry for © 
him, while the two detectives smiled derisively, by no — 
means displeased at this check which he had met. 

“{t can’t be a coincidence,” he cried, at last spring- 
ing from his chair and pacing wildly up and down the 
room; “it is impossible that it should be a mere coinci- 
dence. The very pills which I suspected in the case of 
Drebber are actually found after the death of Stangerson. 
And yet they are inert. What can it mean? Surely my 
whole chain of reasoning cannot have been false. It 
is impossible! And yet this wretched dog is none the 
worse. Ah, I haveit! Ihave it!” With a perfect 
shriek of delight he rushed to the box, cut the other pill 
in two, dissolved it, added milk, and presented it to the 
terrier. The unfortunate creature’s tongue seemed hardly 


to have been moistened in it before it gave a convulsive 
shiver in every limb, and lay as rigid and lifeless as if it 
had been struck by lightning. 

Sherlock Holmes drew a long breath, and wiped the 
perspiration from his forehead. 

“‘T should have more faith,” he said; “I ought te 
know by this time that when a fact appears to be op- 
posed to a long train of deductions it invariably proves 
to be capable of bearing some other interpretation. Of 
the two pills in that box one was the most deadly poison 
and the other was entirely harmless. I ought to have 
known that before ever I saw the box at all.” 

This last statement appeared to me to be so startling, 
that I could hardly believe that he was in his sober 
senses. There was the dead dog, however, to prove 
that his conjecture had been correct. It seemed to me 
that the mists in my own mind were gradually clearing 
away, and I began to have a dim, vague perception of 
the truth. 

“All this seems strange to you,” continued Holmes, 
“because you failed at the beginning of the inquiry to 
grasp the importance of the single real clew which was 
presented to you. I had the good fortune to see upon 
that, and everything which has occurred since then has 
served to confirm my original supposition, and, indeed, 
was the logical sequence of it. Hence, things which 
have perplexed you and made the case more obscure 
have served to enlighten me and to strengthen my con- 
clusions. It is a mistake to confound strangeness with 
mystery. The most commonplace crime is often the 
most mysterious because it presents no new or special 


features from which deductions may be drawn. This 
murder would have been infinitely more difficult to un- 
ravel had the body of the victim been simply found lying 
in the roadway without any of those oufré and sensa- 
tional accompaniments which have rendered it remark- 
able. ‘These strange details, far from making the case 
more difficult, have really had the effect of making it 
less so.” 

Mr. Gregson, who had listened to this address 
with considerable impatience, could contain himself no 

“ Look here, Mr. Sherlock Holmes,” he said, “‘ we are 
all ready to acknowledge that you are a smart man, and 
that you have your own methods of working. We want 
something more than mere theory and preaching now, 
though. It is a case of taking the man. I have made 
my case out, and it seems I was wrong. Young Char- 
pentier could not have been engaged in this second 
affair. Lestrade went after this man, Stangerson, and 
it appears that he was wrong, too. You have thrown 
out hints here and hints there, and seem to know more 
than we do, but the time has come when we feel that 
we have aright to ask you straight how much you do 
know of the business. Can you name the man who 
did it?” 

“T cannot help feeling that Gregson is right, sir,” re- 
marked Lestrade. ‘We have both tried, and we have 
both failed. You have remarked more than once since 
I have been in the room that you had ali the evidence 
which you require. Surely you will not withhold it any 


“Any delay in arresting the assassin,” I observed, 
“might give him time to perpetrate some fresh atrocity.” 

Thus pressed by us all, Holmes showed signs of irreso- 
lution. He continued to walk up and down the room 
with his head sunk on his chest and his brows drawn 
down, as was his habit when lost in thought. 

“There will be no more murders,” he said, at last, 
stopping abruptly and facing us. ‘‘ You can put that 
consideration out of the question. You have asked me 
if I know the name of the assassin. Ido. The mere 
knowing of his name is a small thing, however, com- 
pared with the power of laying our hands upon him. 
This I expect very shortly to do. I have good hopes 
of managing it through my own arrangements; but it 
is a thing which needs delicate handling, for we havea 
shrewd and desperate man to deal with, who is supported, 
as I have had occasion to prove, by another who is as 
clever as himself. As long as this man has no idea 
that any one can have a clew, there is some chance of 
securing him; but if he had the slightest suspicion, he 
would change his name, and vanish in an instant among 
the four million inhabitants of this great city. Without 
meaning to hurt either of your feelings, I am bound to 
say that I consider these men to be more than a match 
for the official force, and that is why I have not asked 
your assistance. If I fail I shall of course incur all the 
blame due to this omission; but that I am prepared for. 
At present I am ready to promise that the instant that 
I can communicate with you without endangering my 
own combinations, I shall do so.” 

Gregson and Lestrade seemed to be far from satisfied 


by this assurance, or by the depreciating allusion to the 
detective police. ‘The former had flushed up to the 
roots of his flaxen hair, while the other’s beady eyes 
glistened with curiosity and resentment. Neither of 
them had time to speak, however, before there was a 
tap at the door and the spokesman of the street arabs, 
young Wiggins, introduced his insignificant and unsavory 

“ Please, sir,” he said, touching his forelock, “‘I have 
the cab downstairs.” : 

“Good boy,” said Holmes, blandly. “ Why don’t you 
introduce this pattern at Scotland Yard?” he continued, 
taking a pair of steel handcuffs from'a drawer. ‘“‘See 
how beautifully the spring works. They fasten in an 

“ The old pattern is good enough,” remarked Lestrade, 
“if we can find the man to put them on.” 

“Very good, very good,” said Holmes, smiling. “The 
cabman may as well help me with my boxes. Just ask 
him to step up, Wiggins.” 

I was surprised to find my companion speaking as 
though he were about to set out on a journey, since he 
had not said anything to me about it. There was a 
small portmanteau in the room, and this he pulled out 
and began to strap. He was busily engaged at it when 
the cabman entered the room. 

“Just give me a help with this buckle, cabman,” 
he said, kneeling over his task, and never turning his 

The fellow came forward with a somewhat sullen, 
defiant air, and put down his hands to assist. At that 


instant there was a sharp click, the jangling of metal, 
and Sherlock Holmes sprang to his feet again. 

“Gentlemen,” he cried, with flashing eyes, “let me 
introduce you to Mr. Jefferson Hope, the murderer of 
Enoch Drebber and of Joseph Stangerson.” 

The whole thing occurred in a moment—so quickly 
that I had no time to realize it. I have a vivid recollec- 
tion of that instant, of Holmes’s triumphant expression 
and the ring of his voice, of the cabman’s dazed, savage 
face, as he glared at the glittering handcuffs, which had 
appeared as if by magic upon his wrists. For a second 
or two we might have been a group of statues. Then, 
with an inarticulate roar of fury, the prisoner wrenched 
himself free from Holmes’s grasp, and hurled himself 
through the window. Woodwork and glass gave way 
before him; but before he got quite through, Gregson, 
Lestrade, and Holmes sprang upon him like so many 
stag-hounds. He was dragged back into the room, and 
then commenced a terrific conflict. So powerful and so 
fierce was he, that the four of us were shaken off again 
and again. He appeared to have the convulsive strength 
of a man in an epileptic fit. His face and hands were 
terribly mangled by the passage through the glass, but 
loss of blood had no effect in diminishing his resistance. 
It was not until Lestrade succeeded in getting his hand 
inside his neckcloth and half strangling him that we 
made him realize that his struggles were of no avail; 
and even then we felt no security until we had pinioned 
his feet as well as his hands. That done, we rose to 
our feet, breathless and panting. 

“We have his cab,” said Sherlock Holmes. “It will 



serve to take him to Scotland Yard. And now, gentle. 
men,” he continued, with a pleasant smile, “we have 
reached the end of our little mystery. You are very 
welcome to put any questions that you like to me now, 
and there is no danger that I will refuse to answer them.” 


The Country of the Saint 


In the central portion of the great North American 
Continent there lies an arid and repulsive desert, which 
for many a long year served as a barrier against the 
advance of civilization. From the Sierra Nevada to 
Nebraska, and from the Yellowstone River in the north 
to the Colorado upon the south, is a region of desolation 
and silence. Nor is Nature always in one mood through- 
out this grim district. It comprises snow-capped and 
lofty mountains, and dark and gloomy valleys. ‘There 
are swift-flowing rivers which dash through jagged can- 
yons; and there are enormous plains, which in winter 
are white with snow, and in summer are gray with the 
saline alkali dust. They all preserve, however, the com- 
men characteristics of barrenness, inhospitality, and 

There are no inhabitants of this land of despair. A 
band of Pawnees or of Blackfeet may occasionally tra- 
verse it in order to reach other hunting-grounds, but the 



hardiest of the braves are glad to lose sight of those | 
awesome plains, and to find themselves once more upon — 
their prairies. The coyote skulks among the scrub, the 
buzzard flaps heavily through the air, and the clumsy 
grizzly bear lumbers through the dark ravines, and picks 
up such sustenance as it can amon, the rocks. These 
are the sole dwellers in the wilderness. 

In the whole world there can be no more dreary view 
than that from the northern slope of the Sierra Blanco. 
As far as the eye can reach stretches the great flat’ 
plain-land, all dusted over with patches of alkali, and 
intersected by clumps of the dwarfish chaparral bushes. 
On the extreme verge of the horizon lie a long chain of 
mountain-peaks, with their rugged summits flecked with 
snow. In this great stretch of country there is no sign 
of life, nor of anything appertaining to life. There is 
no bird in the steel-blue heaven, no movement upon 
the dull, gray earth—above all, there is absolute silence. 
Listen as one may, there is no shadow of a sound ir all 
that mighty wilderness; nothing but silence—complete 
and heart-subduing silence. 

It has been said there is nothing appertaining to 
life upon the broad plain. ‘That is hardly true. Look- 
ing down from the Sierra Blanco, one sees a pathway 
traced out across the desert, which winds away and ts 
lost in the extreme distance. It is rutted with wheels 
and trodden down by the feet of many adventurers. 
Here and there are scattered white objects which glisten 
in the sun, and stand out against the dull deposit-of al- 
kali. Approach, and examine them! They are bones; 
some large and coarse, others smaller and more delicate. 

* * % 

- oo 


The former have belonged to oxen, and the latter to 
men. For fifteen hundred miles one may trace this 
ghastly caravan route by these scattered remains of 
those who had fallen by the way-side. 

Looking down on this very scene, there stood upon 
the 4th of May, 1847, a solitary traveler. His appear- 
ance was such that he might have been the very genius 
or demon of the region. An observer would have found 
it difficult to say whether he was nearer to forty or to 
sixty. His face was lean and haggard, and the brown, 
parchment-like skin was drawn tightly over the project- 
ing bones; his long, brown hair and beard were all 
flecked and dashed with white; his eyes were sunken in 
his head, and burned with an unnatural luster, while the 
hand which grasped his rifle was hardly more fleshy 
than that of a skeleton. As he stood, he leaned upon 
his weapon for support, and yet his tall figure and the 
massive framework of his bones suggested a wiry and 
vigorous constitution. His gaunt face, however, and his 
clothes, which hung so baggily over his shriveled limbs, 
proclaimed what it was that gave him that senile and 
decrepit appearance. The man was dying—dying from 
hunger and from thirst. 

He had toiled painfully down the ravine, and on to 
this little elevation, in the vain hope of seeing some signs 
of water. Now the great salt plain stretched before his 
eyes, and the distant belt of savage mountains, without 
a sign anywhere of plant or tree, which might indicate 
the presence of moisture. In all that broad landscape 
there was no gleam of hope. North, and east, and west 
he looked with wild, questioning eyes, and shits he real- 


ized that his wanderings had come to an end, and that 
there, on that barren crag, he was about to die. 

“Why not here, as well as in a feather bed, twenty 
years hence,” he muttered, as he seated himself in the 
shelter of a bowlder. 

Before sitting down, he had deposited upon the 
ground his useless rifle, and also a large bundle tied up 
in a gray shawl, which he had carried slung over his 
right shoulder. It appeared to be somewhat too heavy 
for his strength, for, in lowering it, it came down on the 
ground with some little violence. Instantly there broke 
from the gray parcel a little moaning cry, and from it 
there protruded a small, scared face, with very bright 
brown eyes, and two little speckled dimpled fists. 

“You've hurt me!” said a childish voice, reproach- 

“Have I, though?” the man answered, penitently. 
“T didn’t go for to do it.” 

As he spoke, he unwrapped the gray shawl and ex- 
tricated a pretty little girl of about five years of age, 
whose dainty shoes and smart pink frock, with its little 
linen apron, all bespoke a mother’s care. The child 
was pale and wan, but her healthy arms and legs showed 
that she had suffered less than her companion. 

“How is it now?” he answered, anxiously, for she 
was still rubbing the towsy golden curls which covered 
the back of her head. 

“Kiss it and make it well,” she said, with perfect 
gravity, shoving the injured part up to him. “That’s 
what mother used to do. Where’s mother ?” 

“Mother’s gone. I guess you'll see her before long.” 


“Gone, eh!” said the little girl. ‘ Funny she didn’t 
say good-by; she ’most always did if she was just goin’ 
over to auntie’s for tea, and now she’s been away for 
three days. Say, it’s awful dry, ain’t it? Ain’t there 
no water nor nothing to eat ?” 

“No, there ain’t nothing, dearie. You'll just need 
to be patient awhile, and then you'll be all right. Put 
your head up agin me, like that, and then you'll feel 
better. It ain’t easy to talk when your lips is like 
leather, but I guess I’d best let you know how the cards 
lie. What’s that you’ve got ?” 

“Pretty things! fine things!” cried the little sit en- 
thusiastically, holding up two glittering fragments of 
mica. ‘‘ When we goes back to home I'll give them to 
brother Bob.” 

“You'll see prettier things than them soon,” said the 
man, confidently. ‘ You just wait abit. I was going to 
tell you, though—you remember when we left the river?” 

“Oh, yes." 

“Well, we reckoned we’d strike another river soon, 
d’ye see. But there was somethin’ wrong; compasses, 
or map, or somethin’, and it didn’t turn up. Water 
ran out. Just except a little drop for the likes of you 

“And you couldn’t wash yourself,” interrupted his 
companion, gravely, staring up at his grimy visage. 

“No, nor drink. And Mr. Bender, he was the first 
to go, and then Indian Pete, and then Mrs. McGregor, 
and then Johnny Hones, and then, dearie, your mother.” 

“Then mother’s a deader, too,” cried the little girl, 
dropping her face in her pinafore and sobhing bitterly. 


“Yes; they all went except you and me. Then 1 
thought there was some chance of water in this direction, 
so I heaved you over my shoulder and we tramped it 
together. It don’t seem as though we’ve improved 
matters. There’s an almighty small chance for us now!” 

“ Do you mean that we are going to die, too?” asked 
the child, checking her sobs, and raising her tear-stained 

“T guess that’s about the size of it.” 

“Why didn’t you say so before ?” she said, laughing 
gleefully. “You gave me such a fright. Why, of 
course, now as long as we die we'll be with mother 

“Yes, you will, dearie.” 

“And you, too. I'll tell her how awful good you’ve 
been. I'll bet she meets us at the door of heaven with 
a big pitcher of water, and a lot of buckwheat cakes, 
hot, and toasted on both sides, like Bob and me was © 
fond of. How long will it be first ?” 

“T don’t know—not very long.” 

The man’s eyes were fixed upon the northern horizon. 
In the blue vault of the heaven there appeared three little 
specks which increased in size every moment, so rapidly 
did they approach. They speedily resolved themselves 
into three large brown birds, which circled over the 
heads of the two wanderers, and then settled upon some 
rocks which overlooked them. They were buzzards, 
the vultures of the West, whose coming is the forerunner 
of death. 

“Cocks and hens,” cried the little girl, gleefully, 
pointing at their ill-omened forms, and clapping her 


hands to make them rise. “Say, did God make this 
country ?” 

“In course He did,” said her companion, rather 
startled by this unexpected question. 

“He made the country down in Illinois, and He 
made the Missouri,” the little girl continued. “I guess 
somebody else made the country in these parts. It’s 
not nearly so well done. They forgot the water and 
the trees.” 

“What would ye think of offering up prayer?” the 
man asked, diffidently. 

“Jt ain’t night yet,” she answered. 

“It don’t matter. It ain’t quite regular, but He 
won’t mind that, you bet. You say over them ones 
that you used to say every night in the wagon when we 
was on the plains.” 

“Why don’t you say some yourself ?” the child asked, 
with wondering eyes. 

“TI disremember them,” he answered. ‘I hain’t said 
none since I was half the height o’ that gun. I guess 
it’s never too late. You say them out, and I'll stand 
by and come in on the choruses.” 

“Then you'll need to kne_l down, and me too,” she 
said, laying the shawl out for that purpose. “ You've 
got to put your hands up like this. It makes you feel 
kind of good.” 

It was a strange sight, had there been anything but 
the buzzards to see it. Side by side on the narrow 
shawl knelt the two wanderers, the little, prattling child 
and the reckless, hardened adventurer. Her chubby 
face and his haggard, angular visage were both turned 


up to the cloudless heaven in heartfelt entreaty to that 
dread Being with whom they were face to face, whiie 
the two voices—the one thin and clear, the other deep 
and harsh—united in the entreaty for mercy and for- 
giveness. The prayer finished, they resumed their seat 
in the shadow of the bowlder until the child fell asleep, 
nestling upon the broad breast of her protector. He 

watched over her slumber for some time, but Nature — 

proved to be too strong for him. For three days and 
three nights he had allowed himself neither rest nor re- 
pose. Slowly the eyelids drooped over the tired eyes, 
and the head sank lower and lower upon the breast, 
until the man’s grizzled beard was mixed with the golden 
tresses of his companion, and both slept the same deep 
and dreamless slumber. | 

Had the wanderer remained awake for another half- 
hour a strange sight would have met his eyes. Far 
away on the extreme verge of the alkali plain there rose 
up a little spray of dust, very slight at first, and hardly 
to be distinguished from the mists of the distance, but 

gradually growing higher and broader until it formed a 

solid, well-defined cloud. This cloud continued to in- 
crease in size until it became evident that it could only 
be raised by a great multitude of moving creatures. In 
more fertile spots the observer would have come to the 
conclusion that one of those great herds of bisons which 
graze upon the prairie-land was approaching him. This 
was obviously impossible in these arid wilds. As the 
whirl of dust drew nearer to the solitary bluff upon 
which the two castaways were reposing, the canvas 
covered tilts of wagons and the figures of armed horse 

1 ale 
pie dete 


men began to show up through the haze, and the ap. 
parition revealed itself as being a great caravan upon its 
journey for the West. But what a caravan! When 

the kead of it had reached the base of the mountains, 
the rear was not yet visible on the horizon. Right 
across the enormous plain stretched the straggling array, 
wagons and carts, men on horseback, and men on foot. 
Innumerable women who staggered along under bur- 
dens, and children who toddled beside the wagons or 
peeped out from under the white coverings. This was 
evidently no ordinary party of immigrants, but rather 
some nomad people who had been compelled from 
stress of circumstances to seek themselves a new coun- 
try. There rose through the clear air a confused clat- 
tering and rumbling from this great mass of humanity, 
with the creaking of wheels and the neighing of horses. 
Loud as it was, it was not sufficient to rouse the two 
tired wayfarers above them. 

At the head of the column there rose a score or more - 

of grave, iron-faced men clad in somber homespun 

~ garments and armed with rifles. On reaching the base 
of the bluff they halted and held a short council among 

“The wells are to the right, my brothers,” said one, 
a hard-lipped, clean-shaven man with grizzly hair. 

“To the right of the Sierra Blanco—so we shall 
reach the Rio Grande,” said another. 

“ Fear not for water,” cried a third. ‘“ He who could 
draw it from the rocks will not now abandon His own 
chosen people.” 

“Amen! Amen!” responded the whole party. 


They were about to resume their journey when one 
of the youngest and keenest-eyed uttered an exclamation 
and pointed up at the rugged crag above them. From 
its summit there fluttered a little wisp of pink, showing 
up hard and bright against the gray rocks behind. At 
the sight there was a general reining up of horses and 
unslinging of guns, while fresh horsemen came galloping 
up to reinforce the vanguard. The word “ Redskins” 
was on every lip. 

“There can’t be any number of Injuns here,” said 
the elderly man who appeared to be in command. 
“We have passed the Pawnees, and there are no other 
tribes until we cross the great mountains.” 

“Shall I go forward and see, Brother Stangerson? ” 
asked one of the band. 

“ And I,” “ And I,” cried a dozen voices. 

“Leave your horses below and we will wait you here,” 
the elder answered. In a moment the young fellows 
had dismounted, fastened their horses, and were ascend- 
ing the precipitous slope which led up to the object 
which had excited their curiosity. They advanced 
rapidly and noiselessly, with the confidence and dexterity 
of practiced scouts. The watchers from the plain 
below could see them flit from rock to rock until their 
figures stood out against the sky-line. The young man 
who had first given the alarm was leading them. Sud- 
denly his followers saw him throw up his hands, as 
though overcome with astonishment, and on joining him 
they were affected in the same way by the sight which 
met their eyes. 

On the little plateau which crowned the barren hill 


there stood a single giant bowlder, and against this 
bowlder there lay a tall man, long-bearded and hard- 
featured, but of an excessive thinness. His placid 
face and regular breathing showed that he was fast 
asleep. Beside him lay a little child, with her round 
white arms encircling his brown, sinewy neck, and her 
golden-haired head resting upon the breast of his vel- 
veteen tunic. Her rosy lips were parted, showing the 
regular line of snow-white teeth within, and a playful 
smile played over her infantile features. Her plump 
little white legs, terminating in white socks and neat 
shoes with shining buckles, offered a strange contrast to 
the long, shriveled members of her companion. On_ 
the ledge of rock above this strange couple there stood 
three solemn buzzards, who, at the sight of the new- 
comers, uttered raucous screams of disappointment and 
flapped sullenly away. 

The cries of the foul birds awoke the two sleepers, 
who stared about them in bewilderment. The man stag- 
gered to his feet and looked down upon the plain which 
had been so desolate when sleep had overtaken him, 
and which was now traversed by this enormous body of 
men and beasts. His face assumed an expression of 
incredulity as he gazed, and he passed his bony hand 
over his eyes. 

“ This is what they call delirium, I guess,” he muttered. 
The child stood beside him, holding on to the skirt of 
his coat, and said nothing, but looked all round her 
with the wondering, questioning gaze of childhood. 

The rescuing party were speedily able to convince 
the two castaways that their appearance was no delusion, 


One of them seized the little girl, and hoisted her upon 
his shoulder, while two others supported her gaunt com- 
panion, and assisted him toward the wagons. 

“‘ My name is John Ferrier,” the wanderer exp!ained ; 

me and that little ’un are all that’s left o’ twenty-one 
people. The rest is all dead o’ thirst and nUnges away 
down in the south.” | 

“Is she your child?” asked some one. 

“TI guess she is now,” the other cried, defiantly; | 
“she’s mine ’cause I saved her. No man will take her 
away from me. She’s Lucy Ferrier from this day on. 
Who are you, though?” he continued, glancing with 
curiosity at his stalwart, sunburned rescuers; “there 
seems to be a powerful lot of ye.” 

“Nigh upon ten thousand,” said one of the young 
men; “we are the persecuted children of God—the 
chosen of the angel Merona.” 

“T never heard tell on him,” said the wanderer, © 
“He appears to have chosen a fair crowd of ye.” 

“Do not jest at that which is sacred,” said the other, 
sternly. “We are of those who believe in those sacred 
writings, drawn in Egyptian letters on plates of beaten 
gold, which were handed unto the holy Joseph Smith, 
at Palmyra. We have come from Nauvoo, in the State 
of Illinois, where we had founded our temple. We 
have come to seek a refuge from the violent man and 
from the godless, even though it be in the heart of the 

The name of Nauvoo evidently recalled recollections 
to John Ferrier. 

“T see,” he said; “you are the Mormons.” 


“We are the Mormons,” answered his companions, 
with one voice. 

“ And where are you going?” 

“We do not know. The hand of God is leading 
us under the person of our prophet. You must come 
before him. He shall say what is to be done witb 
you.” ’ 

They had reached the base of the hill by this time, 
and were surrounded by crowds of the pilgrims—pale- 
faced, meek-looking women, strong, laughing children, 
and anxious, earnest-eyed men. Many were the cries 
of astonishment and of commiseration which arose from 
them when they perceived the youth of one of the 
strangers and the destitution of the other. Their escort 
did not halt, however, but pushed on, followed by a 
great crowd of Mormons, until they reached a wagon 
which was conspicuous for its great size and for the 
gaudiness and smartness of its appearance. Six horses 
were yoked to it, whereas the others were furnished with 
two, or, at most, four apiece. Beside the driver there 
sat a man who could not have been more than thirty 
years of age, but whose massive head and resolute ex- 
pression marked him as a leader. He was reading a 
brown-backed volume, but as the crowd approached he 
laid it aside, and listened attentively to an account of 
the episode. Then he turned to the two castaways. 

“Tf we take you with us,” he said, in solemn words, 
“it can only be as believers in our own creed. We 
shall have no wolves in our fold. Better far that your 
bones should bleach in this wilderness than that you 
should prove to be that little speck of decay which in 


time corrupts the whole fruit, Will you come with us 
on these terms?” 

“ Guess I’ll come with you on any terms,” said Ferrier, 
with such emphasis that the grave elders could not re- 
strain a smile. The leader alone retained his stern, im- 
pressive expression. 

“Take him, Brother Stangerson,” he said, “ give him 
food and drink, and the child likewise. Let it be your. 
task also to teach him our holy creed. We have delayed 
long enough. Forward! On, on to Zion!” 

“On, on to Zion!” cried the crowd of Mormons, and 
the words rippled down the long caravan, passing from 
mouth to mouth until they died away in a dull murmur 
in the far distance. With a cracking of whips and a 
creaking of wheels the great wagon got into motion, 
and soon the whole caravan was winding along once © 
more. ‘The elder to whose care the two waifs had been 
committed led them to his wagon, where a meal was 
already awaiting them. 

“You shall remain here,” he said. “In a few days 
you will have recovered from your fatigues. In the 
meantime, remember that now and forever you are of 
our religion. Brigham Young has said it, and he has 
spoken with the voice of Joseph Smith, which is the 
voice of God.” 


Tuis is not the place to commemorate the trials and 
privations endured by the immigrant Mormons before 
they came to their final haven. From the shores of the 
Mississippi to the western slopes of the Rocky Mount- 
ains they had struggled on with a constancy almost un- 
paralleled in history. The savage man and the savage 
beast, hunger, thirst, fatigue, and disease—every im- 
pediment which Nature could place in the way, had 
all been overcome with Anglo-Saxon tenacity Yet the 
long journey and the accumulated terrors had shaken 
the hearts of the stoutest among them. There was not 
one who did not sink upon his knees in heartfelt prayer 
when they saw the broad valley of Utah bathed in the 
sunlight beneath them, and learned from the lips of their 
leader that this was the promised land, and that these 
virgin acres were to be theirs forevermore. 

Young speedily proved himself to be a skillful admin- 
istrator as well as a resolute chief. Maps were drawn 
and charts prepared, in which the future city was sketched 
out. All around farms were apportioned and allotted 
in proportion to the standing of each individual. The 
tradesman was put to his trade and the artisan to his 
calling. In the town streets and squares sprang up as 



if by magic. In the country there was draining and 
hedging, planting and clearing, until the next summer 
saw the whole country golden with the wheat crop. 
Everything prospered in the strange settlement. Above 
all, the great temple which they had erected in the cen- 
ter of the city grew ever taller and larger. From the 
first blush of dawn until the closing of the twilight, the 
clatter of the hammer and the rasp of the saw was never 
absent from the monument which the emigrants erected 
to Him who had led them safe through many dangers. 

The two castaways, John Ferrier and the little girl 
who had shared his fortunes and had been adopted 
as his daughter, accompanied the Mormons to the end 
of their great pilgrimage. Little Lucy Ferrier was 
borne along pleasantly enough in Elder Stangerson’s 
wagon, a retreat which she shared with the Mormon’s 
three wives and with his son, a headstrong, forward boy 
of twelve. Having rallied, with the elasticity of child- 
hood, from the shock caused by her mother’s death, she 
soon became a pet with the women, and reconciled her- 
self to this new life in her moving canvas-covered home, 
In the meantime, Ferrier, having recovered from his 
privations, distinguished himself as a useful guide and an 
indefatigable hunter. So rapidly did he gain the esteem 
of his new companions, that when they reached the end 
of their wanderings, it was unanimously agreed that he 
should be provided with as large and as fertile a tract of 
land as any of the settlers, with the exception of Young 
himself, and of Stangerson, Kimball, Johnston, and Dreb- 
ber, who were the four principal elders. _ 

On the farm thus acquired John Ferrier built himself 


w substantial log-house, which received so many addi- 
tions in succeeding years that it grew into a roomy vilia. 
He was a man of a practical turn of mind, keen fn his 
dealings, and skillful with his hands. His iron constitu- 
tion enabled him to work morning and evening at im- 
proving and tilling his lands. Hence it came about that 
his farm and all that belonged to him prospered exceed- 
ingly. In three years he was better off than his neigh- 
bors, in six he was well-to-do, in nine he was rich, and 
in twelve there were not half a dozen men in the whole 
of Salt Lake City who could compare with him. From 
the great inland sea to the distant Wahsatch Mountains 
there was no name better known than that of John 

There was one way, and only one, in which he offended 
the susceptibilities of his co-religionists. No argument 
or persuasion could ever induce him to set up a female 
establishment after the manner of hiscompanions. He 
never gave reasons for this persistent refusal, but con- 
tented himself by resolutely and inflexibly adhering to 
his determination. ‘There were some who accused him 
of lukewarmness in his adopted religion, and others who 
put it down to greed of wealth and reluctance to incur 
expense. Others, again, spoke of some early love affair, 
and of a fair-haired girl who had pined away on the 
shores of the Atlantic. Whatever the reason, Ferrier 
remained strictly celibate. In every other respect he 
conformed to the religion of the young settlement, and 
gained the name of being an orthodox and straight- 
walking man. 

Lucy Ferrier grew up within the iog-house, and as- 


sisted her adopted father in all his undertakings. The 
keen air of the mountains and the balsamic odor of the 
pine-trees took the place of nurse and mother to the 
young girl As year succeeded to year she grew taller 
and stronger, her cheek more ruddy, and her step more 
elastic. Many a wayfarer upon the high-road which ran 
by Ferrier’s farm felt long-forgotten thoughts revive in 
his mind as he watched her lithe, girlish figure tripping 
through the wheat-fields, or met her mounted upon her 
father’s mustang, and managing it with all the ease and 
grace of a true child of the West. So the bud Dlos- 
somed into a flower, and the year which saw her father 
the richest of the farmers left her as fair a specimen of 
American girlhood as could be found in the whole Pa- 
cific slope. 

It was not the father, however, who first discovered 
that the child had developed into the woman. It sel- 
dom is in such cases. ‘That mysterious change is too 
subtle and too gradual to be measured by dates. Least 
of all does the maiden herself know it until the tone of 
a voice or the touch of a hand sets her heart thrilling 
within her, and she learns, with a mixture of pride and of 
fear, that a new and a larger nature has awakened within 
her. There are few who cannot recall that day and re- 
member the one little incident which heralded the dawn 
of a new life. In the case of Lucy Ferrier the occasion 
was serious enough in itself, apart from its future influ 
ence on her destiny and that of many besides. 

It was a warm June morning, and the Latter-Day 
Saints were as busy as the bees whose hive they have 
chosen for theiremblem. In the fields and in the streets 


rose the same hum of human industry. Down the 
dusty high-roads defiled long streams of heavily laden 
mules, all heading to the West, for the gold fever had 
broken out in California, and the Overland Route lay 
through the City of the Elect. There, too, were droves 
of sheep and bullocks coming in from the outlying pas- 
ture-lands, and trains of tired immigrants, men and 
horses equally weary of their interminable journey. 
Through all this motley assemblage, threading her way 
with the skill of an accomplished rider, there galloped 
Lucy Ferrier, her fair face flushed with the exercise and 
her long chestnut hair floating out behind her. She had 
a commission from her father in the city, and was dash- 
ing in as she had done many a time before, with all the 
fearlessness of youth, thinking only of her task and how 
it was to be performed. The travel-stained adventurers 
gazed after her in astonishment, and even the unemo- 
tional Indians, journeying in with their peltry, relaxed 
their accustomed stoicism as they marveled at the beauty 
of the pale-faced maiden. 

She had reached the outskirts of the city when she 
found the road blocked by a great drove of cattle, driven 
by a half-dozen wild-looking herdsmen from the plains. 
In her impatience she endeavored to pass this obstacle 
by pushing her horse into what appeared to be a gap. 
Scarcely had she got fairly into it, however, before the 
beasts closed in behind her, and she found herself com- 
pletely imbedded in the moving stream of fierce-eyed, 
long-horned bullocks. Accustomed as she was to deal 
with cattle, she was not alarmed at her situation, but 
teok advantage of every opportunity to urge her horse 


on in the hope of pushing her way through the caval 
cade. Unfortunately the horns of one of the creatures, 
either by accident or design, came in violent contact 
with the dank of the mustang, and excited it to mad- 
ness. In an instant it reared up upon its hind legs with 
a snort of rage, and pranced and tossed in a way that 
would have unseated any but a most skillful rider. The 
situation was full of peril. Every plunge of the excited 
horse brought it against the horns again, and goaded it 
to fresh madness. It was all that the girl could do to 
keep herself in the saddle, yet a slip would mean a terni- 
ble death under the hoofs of the unwieldy and terrified 
animals. Unaccustomed to sudden emergencies, her 
head began to swim, and her grip upon the bridle to 
relax. Choked by the rising cloud of dust and by the 
steam from the struggling creatures, she might have 
abandoned her efforts in despair, but for a kindly voice 
at her elbow which assured her of assistance. At the 

same moment a sinewy brown hand caught the fright- . 
ened horse by the curb, and, forcing a way through the ~ 

drove, soon brought her to the outskirts. 

“You're not hurt, I hope, miss,’’ said her preserver, 

She looked up at his dark, fierce face, and laughed 

“T’m awful frightened,” she said, naively; “ whoever 
would have thought that Poncho would have been se 
scared by a lot of cows?” ) 

“Thank God you kept your seat,” the other said, 
earnestly. He was a tall, savage-looking young fellow, 
mounted on a powerful roan horse, and clad jn the rough 


dress of a hunter, with a long rifle slung over his shoul- 
der. “I guess you are the daughter of John Ferrier,” 
he remarked. ‘I saw you ride down from his house. 
When you see him, ask him if he remembers the Jeffer- 
son Hopes of St. Louis. If he’s the same Ferrier, my 
father and he were pretty thick.” . 

“Hadn’t you better come and ask yourself?” she 
asked, demurely. 

The young fellow seemed pleased at the suggestion, 
and his dark eyes sparkled with pleasure, 

“T'll do so,” he said; “‘ we’ve been in the mountains 
for two months, and are not over and above in visiting 
condition. He must take us as he finds us.” 

“ He has a good deal to thank you for, and so have 
I,” she answered; “he’s awful fond of me. If those 
cows had jumped on me, he’d have never got over it.” 

“ Neither would I,” said her companion. 

“Vou? Well, I don’t see that it would make much 
matter to you, anyhow. You ain’t even a friend of 

The young hunter’s dark face grew so gloomy over 
this remark that Lucy Ferrier laughed aloud. 

“ There, I didn’t mean that,” she said ; “ of course, you 
are a friend now. You must come and see us. Nowl 
must push along, or father won’t trust me with his busi- 
ness any more. Good-by.” 

“Good-by,” he answered, raising his broad sombrero, 
and bending over her little hand. She wheeled her mus- 
tang round, gave it a cut with her riding-whip, and 
darted away down the broad road in a rolling cloud of 


Voung Jefferson Hope rode on with his companions, 
gloomy and taciturn. He and they had been among 
the Nevada Mountains prospecting for silver, and were 
returning to Salt Lake City in the hope of raising capi- 
tal enough to work some lodes which they had discov. 
ered. He had been as keen as any of them upon the 
business until this sudden incident had drawn his thoughts 
into another channel. The sight of the fair young girl, 
as frank and wholesome as the Sierra breezes, had stirred 
his volcanic, untamed heart to its very depths. When 
she had vanished from his sight, he realized that a crisis 
had come in his life, and that neither silver speculations 
nor any other questions could ever be of such impor: 
tance to him as this new and all-absorbing one. The 
love which_had sprung up in his heart was not the sud- 
den, changeable fancy of a boy, but rather the wild, 
fierce passion of a man of strong will and imperious 
temper. He had been accustomed to succeed in all 
that he undertook. He swore in his heart he would not 
fail in this if human effort and human perseverance 
could render him successful. 

He called on John Ferricr that night, and many 
times again, until his face was a familiar one at the farm- 
house. John, cooped up in the valley, and absorbed 
in his work, had little chance of learning the news of 
the outside world during the last twelve years. All this 
Jefferson Hope was able to tell him, and in a style which 
interested Lucy as well as her father. He had beena 
pioneer in California, and could narrate many a strangé 
tale of fortunes made and fortunes lost in those wild, 
haleyon days. He had been a scout, too, and a trap 


per, a silver explorer, and a ranchman. Wherever stir- 
ring =dventures were to be had, Jefferson Hope had 
been there in search of them. He soon became a 
favorite with the old farmer, who spoke eloquently of 
his virtues. On such occasions Lucy was silent, but 
her blushing cheek and her bright, happy eyes showed 
only too clearly that her young heart ‘was no longer her 
own. Her honest father may not have observed these 
symptoms, but they were assuredly not thrown away 
upon the man who had won her affections. : 

It was a summer evening when he came galloping 
down the road and pulled up at the gate. She was at 
the doorway, and came down to meet him. He threw 
the bridle over the fence and strode up the pathway. 

“T am off, Lucy,” he said, taking her two hands in 
his, and gazing tenderly down into her face; “I won't 
ask you to come with me now, but will you be ready to 
come when I am here again?” 

“ And when will that be?” she asked, blushing and 

“A couple of months at the outside. I will come 
and claim you then, my darling. There’s no one who 
can stand between us.” 

“ And how about father?” she asked. 

“He has given his consent, provided we get these 
mines working all right. I have no fear on that head.” 

“Oh, well, of course, if you and father have arranged 
it all, there’s no more to be caid,” she whispered, with 
her cheek against his broad breast. 

“Thank God!” he said, hoarsely, stooping end kiss- 
ing her. “It is settled then. The longer I stay the 


harder it will be to go. They are waiting for me at the 
cafion. Good-by, my own darling—good-by. In twc 
months you shall see me.” 

He tore himself from her as he spoke, and, flinging 
himself upon his horse, galloped furiously away, never 
even looking round, as though afraid that his resolution 
might fail him if he took one glance at what he was 
leaving. She stood at the gate, gazing after him until 
he vanished from her sight. Then she walked back into 
the house, the happiest girl in all Utah. 


THREE weeks had passed since Jefferson Hope and 
his comrades had departed from Salt Lake City. John 
Ferrier’s heart was sore within him when he thought of 
the young man’s return, and of the impending loss of 
his adopted child. Yet her bright and happy face rec- 
onciled him to the arrangement more than any argu. 
ment could have done. He had always determined, 
deep down in his resolute heart, that nothing would 
ever induce him to allow his daughter to wed a Mor- 
mon. Such a marriage he regarded as no marriage at 
all, but as a shame and a disgrace. Whatever he might 
think of the Mormon doctrines, upon that one point he 
was inflexible. He had to seal his mouth on the sub- 
ject, however, for to express an unorthodox opinion 
was a dangerous matter in those days in the Land of 
‘the Saints. 

Yes, a dangerous matter—so dangerous that even 
the most saintly dared only whisper their religious opin- 
ions with bated breath, lest something which fell from 
- their lips might be misconstrued and bring down a swift 
retribution upon them. The victims of persecution had 
now turned persecutors on their own account, and per- 



secutors of the most terrible description. Not the In- 
quisition of Seville, nor the German Vehmgericht, nor 
the secret societies of Italy, were ever able to put a 
more formidable machinery in motion than that which 
cast a cloud over the Territory of Utah. 

Its invisibility, and the mystery which was attached 
to it, made this organization doubly terrible. It ap- 
peared to be omniscient and omnipotent, and yet was 
neither seen nor heard. The man who held out against 
the church vanished away, and none knew whither he 
had gone, or what had befallen him. His wife and 
children awaited him at home, but no father ever re- 
turned to tell them how he had fared at the hands of 
his secret judges. A rash word or a hasty act was fol- 
lowed by annihilation, and yet none knew what the 
nature might be of this terrible power which was sus- 
pended over them. No wonder that men went about 
in fear and trembling, and that even in the heart of the 
wilderness they dared not whisper the doubts which 
oppressed them. 

At first this vague and terrible power was exercised 
enly upon the recalcitrants, who, having embraced the 
Mormon faith, wished afterward to pervert or to abandon 
it. Soon, however, it took a wilder range. The supply ~ 
of adult women was running short, and polygamy, with- 
out a female population on which to draw, was a barren 
doctrine indeed. Strange rumors began to be bandied 
about—rumors of murdered immigrants and rifled camps 
in regions where Indians had never been seen. Fresh 
women appeared in the harems of the elders—women 


who pined and wept, and bore upon their faces the 
traces of an unextinguishable horror. Belated wanderers 
upon the mountains spoke of gangs of armed men, 
masked, stealthy, and noiseless, who flitted by them in 
the darkness. These tales and rumors took substance 
and shape, and were corroborated and recorroborated, 
until they resolved themselves into a definite name. To 
this day, in the lonely ranches of the West, the name of 
the Danite Band, or the Avenging Angels, is a sinister 
and an ill-omened one. 

Fuller knowledge of the organization which produced 
such terrible results served to increase rather than to 
lessen the horror which it inspired in the minds of men. 
None knew who belonged to this ruthless society. The 
names of the participators in the deeds of blood and 
violence, done under the name of religion, were kept 
profoundly secret. The very friend to whom you 
communicated your misgivings as to the prophet and 
his mission might be one of those who would come 
forth at nigit with fire and sword to exact a terrible 
reparation. Hence every man feared his neighbor, 
and none spoke of the things which were nearest his 

One fine morning, John Ferrier was about to set out 
to his wheat-fields, when he heard the click of the latch, 
and, looking through the window, saw a stout, sandy- 
haired, middle-aged man coming up the pathway. His 
heart leaped to his mouth, for this was none other than 
the great Brigham Young himself. Fuh of trepidation 
—for he knew that such a visit boded him little good 


—Ferrier ran to the door to greet the Mormon chief. 
The latter, however, received his salutation coldly, and 
followed him with a stern face into the sitting-room. 

“Brother Ferrier,” he said, taking a seat, and eyeing 
the farmer keenly from under his light-colored eyelashes, 
“the true believers have been good friends to you. We 
picked you up when you were starving in the desert, we 
shared our food with you, led you safe to the Chosen 
Valley, gave you a goodly share of land, and allowed 
you to wax rich under our protection. Is not this sor” 

“It is so,” answered John Ferrier. 

“In return for all this, we asked but one condition: 
that was, that you should embrace the true faith, and 
conform in every way to its usages. This you promised 
to do; and this, if common report says truly, you have 

“ And how have I neglected it?” asked Ferrier, throw- — 
ing out his hands in expostulation. ‘“‘ Have I not given 
to the common fund? Have I not attended at the 
temple? Have I not—?” 

“Where are your wives?” asked Young, looking round 
him. “Call them in, that I may greet them.” ; 

“Tt is true that I have not married,” Ferrier answered. 
“But women were few, and there were many who had 
better claims than I. I was nota lonely man; I had 
my daughter to attend to my wants.” 

“Tt is of that daughter that I would speak to you,” 
said the leader of the Mormons. “She has grown to 
be the flower of Utah, and has found favor in the eyes 
of many who are high in the land.” 

John Ferrier groaned internally. 


“ There are stories of her which I would fain disbelieve 
—stories that she is sealed to some Gentile. This must 
be the gossip of idle tongues. What is the thirteenth 
rule in the code of the sainted Joseph Smith? ‘Let 
every maiden of the true faith marry one of the elect; 
for if she wed a Gentile, she commits a grievous sin.’ 
This being so, it is impossible that you, who profess the 
holy creed, should suffer your daughter to- violate it.” 

John Ferrier made no answer, but he played nervously 
with his riding-whip. 

“ Upon this one point your whole faith shall be tested 
—so it has been decided in the Sacred Council of Four. 
The girl is young, and we would not have her wed gray 

-hairs, neither would we deprive her of all choice. We 
elders have many heifers,* but our children must also 
be provided. Stangerson has a son, and Drebber has 4 
son, and either of them would gladly welcome your 
daughter to their house. Let her choose between them. 
They are young and rich, and of the true faith. What 
say you to that?” 

Ferrier remained silent for some little time with his 
brows knitted. 

“You will give us time,” he said, at last. “My 
daughter is very young—she is scarce of an age to 

“She shall have a month to choose,” said Young, ris- 
ing from his seat. “At the end of that time she shal 
give her answer.” 

* Heber C. Kimball, in one of his sermons, alludes to his hundred 
wives under this endearing epithet. - 


He was passing through the door, when he turned, 
with flushed face and flashing eyes. 

“It were better for you, John Ferrier,” he thundered, 
“that you and she were now lying blanched skeletons 
upon the Sierra Blanco, than that you should put your 
weak wills against the orders of the Holy Four!” 

With a threatening gesture of his hand he turned 
from the door, and Ferrier heard his heavy step scrunch- 
ing along the shingly path. 

He was still sitting with his elbows upon his knees, 
considering how he should broach the matter to his 
daughter, when a soft hand was laid upon his, and 
looking up, he saw her standing beside him. One 
glance at her pale, frightened face showed him that 
she had heard what had passed. 

“T could not help it,” she said, in answer to his look, 

“ His voice rang through the house. Oh, father, father, 

what shall we do?” 

“Don’t you scare yourself,” he answered, drawing ~ 

her to him, and passing his broad, rough hand caress- 
ingly over her chestnut hair. ‘We'll fix it up somehow 
oranother. You don’t find your fancy kind o’ lessening 
for this chap, do you?” 

A sob and a squeeze of his hand was her only an- 

“No; of course not. I shouldn’t care to hear you 
say you did. He’s a likely lad, and he’s a Christian, 
which is more than these folk here, in spite o’ all their 
praying and preaching. There’s a party stcrting for 
Nevada to-morrow, and I’ll manage to send him a mes- 
sage Jetting him know the hole we arein. If I know 

+. Vee 


anything o’ that young man, he’ll be back here with a 
speed that would whip electro-telegraphs.” 

Lucy laughed through her tears at her father’s descrip- 

“When he comes, he will advise us for the best. But 
it is for you that I am frightened, dear. One hears— 
one hears such dreadful stories about those who oppose 
the prophet; something terrible always happens to 

“But we haven’t opposed him yet,” her father an- 
swered. “It will be time to look out for squalls when 
we do. We have a clear month before us; at the end 
of that, I guess we had best shin out of Utah.” 

“Leave Utah P” 

“That’s about the size of it.” 

“But the farm? ” 

“We will raise as much as we can in money, and let 
the rest go. To tell the truth, Lucy, it isn’t the first 
time I have thought of doing it. I don’t care about 
knuckling under to any man, as these folk do to their 
darned prophet. I’m a free-born American, and it’s all 
new tome. Guess I’m too old to learn. If he comes 
browsing about this farm, he might chance to run up 
against a charge of buckshot traveling in the opposite 

“But they won’t let us leave,” his daughter objected. 

“Wait till Jefferson comes, and we'll soon manage 
that. In the meantime, don’t you fret yourself, my 
dearie, and don’t get your eyes swelled up, else he'll be 
_walking into me when he sees you. There’s nothing to 

be afeard about, and there’s no danger at all,” 


John Ferrier uttered these consoling remarks in a very 
confide::t tone, but she could not help observing that he 
paid unusual care to the fastening of the doors that 
night, and that he carefully cleaned and loaded the 
rusty old shot-gun which hung upon the wall of his bed: 


Own the morning which followed his interview with 
the Mormon prophet, John Ferrier went into Salt Lake 
City, and having found his acquaintance, who was bound 
for the Nevada Mountains, he intrusted him with his 
message to Jefferson Hope. In it he told the young 
man of the imminent danger which threatened them, and 
how necessary it was that he should return. Having 
done this, he felt easier in his mind, and returned home 
with a lighter heart. 

As he approached his farm, he was surprised to see 
a horse hitched to each of the posts of the gate. Still 
more surprised was he on entering to find two young 
men in possession of his sitting-room. One, with a 
tong, pale face, was leaning back in the rocking-chair, 
with his feet cocked up upon the stove. The other, a 
bull-necked youth with coarse, bloated features, was 
standing in front of the window, with his hands in his 
pockets, whistling a popuiar hymn. Both of them 
nodded to Ferrier as he entered, and the one in the 
rocking-chair commenced the conversation. 

“Maybe you don’t know us,” he said. ‘“ This here 
is the son of Elder Drebber, and I’m Joseph Stangerson, 
who traveled with you in the desert when the Lord 



stretched out His hand and gathered you into the true 

“ As He will all the nations, in His own good time,” 
said the other, in a nasal voice; “ He grindeth slowly 
but exceeding small.” | 

John Ferrier bowed coldly. He had guessed whe 
his visitors were. 

“We have come,” continued Stangerson, “ at the ad- 
vice of our fathers, to solicit the hand of your daughter 
for whichever of us may seem good to you and to her. 
As I have but four wives and Brother Drebber here has 
seven, it appears to me that my claim is the stronger 

“Nay, nay, Brother Stangerson,” cried the other; 
“the question is not how many wives we have, but how 
many we can keep. My father has now given over his 
mills to me, and I am the richer man.” 

“But my prospects are better,” said the other, warmly. | 
“When the Lord removes my father, I shall have his 
tanning-yard and his leather-factory. Then I am your 
elder, and am higher in the Church.” 

“Tt will be for the maiden to decide,” rejoined young 
Drebber, smirking at his own reflection in the glass. 
“We will leave it all to her decision.” 

During this dialogue, John Ferrier had stood fuming 
in the doorway, hardly able to keep his riding-whip from 
the backs of his two visitors. 

“Look here,” he said, at last, striding up to them, 
“when my daughter summons you, you can come; but 
until then, I don’t want to see your faces again.” 

The two young Mormons stared at him in amaze- 


ment. In their eyes this competition between them for 
the maiden’s hand was the highest of honors both to 
her and her father. 

“There are two ways out of the room,” cried Ferrier ; 
“there is the door, and there is the window. Which 
do you care to useP” 

His brown face looked so savage, and his gaunt hands 
so threatening, that his visitors sprung to their feet and 
beat a hurried retreat. ‘The old farmer followed them 
to the door. 

“Tet me know when you have settled which it is te 
be,” he said, sardonically. 

“You shall smart for this!” Stangerson cried, white 
with rage. ‘ You have defied the prophet and the Coun- 
cil of Four. You shall rue it to the end of your days.” 

“The hand of the Lord shall be heavy upon you,” 
cried young Drebber; “ He will arise and smite you! ” 

“Then I'll start the smiting,” exclaimed Ferrier, fury 
ously, and he would have rushed upstairs for his gun 
had not Lucy seized him by the arm and restrained him. 
Before he could escape from her, the clatter of horses’ 
hoofs told him that they were beyond his reach. 

“The young canting rascals!” he exclaimed, wiping 
the perspiration from his forehead; “I would sooner 
see you in your grave, my girl, than the wife of either 
of them.” 

“ And so should I, father,” she answered, with spirit ; 
“but Jefferson will soon be here.” 

“Ves, It will not be long before he comes. The 
sooner the better, for we de not know what their next 
move may be.” 


It was, indeed, high time that some one capable of 
giving advice and help should come to the aid of the 
sturdy old farmer and his adopted daughter. In the 
whole history of the settlement there had never been 
such a case of rank disobedience to the authority of the 
elders. If minor errors were punished so sternly, what 
would be the fate of this arch rebel? Ferrier knew that 
his wealth and position would be of no avail to him, 
Others as well known and as rich as himself had been 
spirited away before now, and their goods given over to 
the Church. He was a brave man, but he trembled at 
the vague, shadowy terrors which hung over him. Any 
known danger he could face with a firm lip, but this 
suspense was unnerving. He concealed his fears from 
his daughter, however, and affected to make light of the 
whole matter, though she, with the keen eye of love, saw 
plainly that he was ill at ease. 

He expected that he would receive some message or | 
remonstrance from Young as to his conduct, and he was 
not mistaken, though it came in an unlooked-for man- 
ner. Upon rising next morning he found, to his sur- 
prise, a small square of paper pinned on to the coverlet 
of his bed just over his chest. On it was printed, in 
bold, straggling letters: 

“Twenty-nine days are given you for amendment, 
and then—” 

The dash was more fear-inspiring than any threat 
eould have been. How this warning came into his 
room puzzled John Ferrier-sorely, for his servants slept 
im an out-house, and the doors and windows had all 


been secured. He crumpled the paper up and said 
nothing to his daughter, but the incident struck a chill 
into his heart. The twenty-nine days were evidently 
the balance of the month which Young had promised. 
What strength or courage could avail against an enemy 
armed with such mysterious powers? ‘The hand which 
fastened that pin might have struck him to the heart, 
and he could never have known who had slain him. 

Still more shaken was he next morning. They had 
sat down to their breakfast when Lucy, with a cry of 
surprise, pointed upward. In the center of the ceiling 
was scrawled, with a burned stick apparently, the num- 
ber 28. To his daughter it was unintelligible, and he 
did not enlighten her. That night he sat up with ‘is 
gun and kept watch and ward. He saw and he heard 
nothing, and yet in the morning a great 27 had been 
painted upon the outside of his door. 

Thus day followed day ; and as sure as morning came 
he found that his unseen enemies had kept their register, 
and had marked up in some conspicuous position how 
many days were still left to him out of the month of grace. 
Sometimes the fatal numbers appeared upon the walls, 
sometimes upon the floors; occasionally they were on 
small placards stuck upon the garden-gate or the rail- 
ings. With all his vigilance John Ferrier could not dis- 
cover whence these daily warnings proceeded. A hor- 
ror, which was almost superstitious, came upon him at 
the sight of them. He became haggard and restless, 
and his eyes had the troubled look of some haunted 
creature. He had but one hope in life now, and that 
was for the arrival of the young hunter from Nevada. 


Twenty had changed to fifteen, and fifteen w ten¢ 
but there was no news of the absentee. Qne by one 
the numbers dwindled down, and still there came no sign 
of him. Whenever a horseman clattered down theroad 
or a driver shouted at his team, the old farmer hurried 
to the gate, thinking that help had arrived at last. At 
last, when he saw five give way to four, and that again 
to three, he lost heart, and abandoned all hope of escape. 
Single-handed, and with his limited knowledge of the 
mountains which surrounded the settlement, he knew 
that he was powerless. The more frequented roads 
were strictly watched and guarded, and none could pass 
along them without an order frem the council. Turn 
which way he would, there appeared to be no avoiding 
the blow which hung over him. Yet the old man i ver 
wavered in his resolution to part with life itself before 
he consented to what he regarded as his daughter’s | 

He was sitting alone one evening pondering deeply 
ever his troubles, and searching vainly for some way out 
of them. That morning had shown the figure 2 upon 
the wall of his house, and the next day would be the 
last of the allotted time. What was to happen then? 
All manner of vague and terrible fancies filled his im- 
agimation. And his daughter—what was to become of 
her after he was gone? Was therc no escape from the 
invisible net-work which was drawn all round them? 
He sunk his head upon the table and sobbed at the 
thought of his own impotence. 

What was that? In the silence he heard a gentle 
scratching sound—low, but very distinct, in the quiet of 


~the night. It came from the door of the house. Ferrier 
crept into the hall and listened intently. There was a 
pause for a few moments, and then the low, insidious 
‘sound was repeated. Some one was evidently tapping 
very gently upon one of the panels of the door. Was 
it some midnight assassin who had come to carry out 
the murderous order of the secret tribunal? Or was it 
some agent who was marking up that the last day of 
grace had arrived. John Ferrier felt that instant death 
would be better than the suspense which shook his 
nerves and chilled his heart. Springing forward, he 
drew the bolt and threw the door open. 

Outside all was calm and quiet. The night was fine, 
and the stars were twinkling brightly overhead. The 
little front garden lay before the farmer’s eyes, bounded 
by the fence and gate; but neither there nor on the road 
was any human being to be seen. With a sigh of relief 
Ferrier looked to right and to left, until happening to 
glance straight down at his feet he saw, to his astonish- 
ment, a man lying flat upon his face upon the ground, 
with his arms and legs all asprawl. 

So unnerved was he at the sight that he leaned up 
against the wall with his hand to his throat to stifle his 
inclination to call out. His first thought was that the 
prostrate figure was that of some wounded or dying man, 
but as he watched it he saw it writhe along the ground 
and into the hall with the rapidity and noiselessness of 
a serpent. Once within the house the man sprung to 
his feet, closed the door, and revealed to the astonished 
farmer the fierce face and resolute expression of Jeffer- 
son Hope. 


“Good God!” gasped John Ferrier. “How you 
scared me! What ever made you come in like that ?” 

“Give me food,” the other said, hoarsely. “I have 
had no time for bite or sup for eight-and-forty hours.” 
He flung himself upon the cold meat and bread which 
were still lying upon the table from his host’s supper, 
and devoured them voraciously. ‘ Does Lucy bear up 
well?” he asked, when he had satisfied his hunger. 

“Yes. She does not know the danger,” her father 

“That is well. The house is watched on every side. 
That is why i crawled my way up to it. They may be 
darned sharp, but they’re not quite sharp enough to 
catch a Washoe hunter.” 

John Ferrier felt a different man now that he realized 
that he had a devoted ally. He seized the young man’s 
leathery hand and wrung it cordially. 

“You're a man to be proud of,” he said. “There 
are not many who would come to share our danger and 
our troubles.” 

“You've hit it there, pard,” the young hunter an- 
swered. “I have a respect for you, but if you were 
alone in this business I’d think twice before I put my 
head into such a hornets’ nest. It’s Lucy that brings 
me here, and before harm comes on her I guess there 
will be one less o’ the Hope family in Utah.” 

“What are we to do?” 

“To-morrow is your last day, and unless you aeg to- 
night you are lost. I have a mule and two horses wait 
ing in the Eagle Ravine. How much money have you ?” 

“Two thousand dollars in gold, and five in notes ” 


“That will do. I have as much more to add to it. 
We must push for Carson City through the mountains. 
You had best wake Lucy. It is as well that the serv: 
ants do not sleep in the house.” 

While Ferrier was absent preparing his daughter for 
the approaching journey, Jefferson Hope packed all 
the eatables that he could find into a small parcel, and 
filled a stoneware jar with water, for he knew by expe- 
rience that the mountain wells were few and far between. 
He had hardly completed his arrangements before the 
farmer returned with his daughter all dressed and ready 
for a start. The greeting between the lovers was warm 
but brief, for minutes were precious, and there was 
much to be done. 

“We must make our start at once,” said Jefferson 
Hope, speaking in a low but resolute voice, like one 
who realizes the greatness of the peril, but has steeled 
his heart to meet it. “The front and back entrances 
are watched, but with caution we may get away through 
the side window and across the fields. Once on the 
road, we are only two miles from the ravine where the 
horses are waiting. By a taney we should be half- 
way through the mountains.” 

“What if we are stopped ?” asked Ferrier. 

Hope slapped the revolver butt which protruded from 
the front of his tunic. 

“Tf they are too many for us, we shall take two or 
three of them with us,” he said, with a sinister smile. 

The lights inside the house had all been extinguished, 
and from the darkened window Ferrier peered over the 
fields which had been his own, and which he was now 


about to abandon forever. He had long nerved him. 
self to the sacrifice, however, and the thought of the 
honor and happiness of his daughter outweighed any 
regret at his ruined fortunes. All looked so peaceful 
and happy, the rustling trees and the broad, silent stretch 
of grain-land, that it was difficult to realize that the 
spirit of murder lurked through it all. Yet the white 
face and set expression of the young hunter showed that 
in his approach to the house he had seen enough to 
satisfy him upon that head. 

Ferrier carried the bag of gold and notes, Jefferson 
Hope had the scanty provisions and water, while Lucy 
had a small bundle containing a few of her more valued 
possessions. Opening the window very slowly and care- 

‘fully, they waited until a dark cloud had somewhat ob- 
scured the night, and then one by one passed through 
into the little garden. With bated breath and crouching 
figures they stumbled across it and gained the shelter 
of the hedge, which they skirted until they came to the 
gap which opened into the corn-field. They had just 
reached this point when the young man seized his two 
companions and dragged them down into the shadow, 
where they lay silent and trembling. 

It was as well that his prairie training had given 
Jefferson Hope the ears of alynx. He and his friends 
had hardly crouched down before the melancholy hoot- 
ing of a mountain owl was heard within a few yards of 
them, which was immediately answered by another hoot 

at a small distance. At the same moment a vague, 

shadowy figure emerged from the gap for which they 
had been making, and uttered the plaintive signal cry 


again, on which a second man appeared out of the 

“To-morrow at midnight,” said the first, who appeared 
to be in authority. ‘When the whip-poor-will calls 
three times.” 

“It is well,” returned the other. “Shall I tell Brother 
Drebber ?” 

“Pass it on to him, and from him to the others. 
Nine to seven!” 

“Seven to five!” repeated the other, and the two 
figures flitted away in different directions. Their con- 
cluding words had evidently been some form of sign and 
countersign. ‘The instant that their footsteps had died 
away in the distance, Jefferson Hope sprung to his feet, 
and, helping his companions through the gap, led the 
way across the fields at full speed, supporting and half 
carrying the girl when her strength appeared to fail her. 

“Hurry on! hurry on!” he gasped from time to 
time. “We are through the line of sentinels. Every- 
thing depends on speed. Hurry on!” 

Once on the high-road they made rapid progress. 
Only once did they meet any one, and then they man- 
aged to slip into a field, and so avoid recognition. Be- 
fore reaching the town the hunter branched away into a 
rugged and narrow foot-path which led to the mountains. 
Two dark, jagged peaks loomed above them through the 
darkness, and the defile which led between them was 
the Eagle Ravine, in which the horses were awaiting 
them. With unerring instinct, Jefferson Hope picked 
his way among the great bowlders and along the bed of 
a dried-up water-course, until he came to the retired 


corner, screened with rocks, where the faithful animals 
had been picketed. ‘The girl was placed upon the mule, 
and old Ferrier upon one of the horses, with his money- 
bag, while Jefferson Hope led the other along the pre- 
cipitous and dangerous paths. 

It was a bewildering route for any one who was not 
accustomed to face Nature in her wildest moods. On 
the one side a great crag towered up a thousand feet or 
more, black, stern, and menacing, with long basaltic 
columns upon his rugged surface like the ribs of some 
petrified monster. On the other hand, a wild chaos of 
bowlders and débris made all advance impossible. Be- 
tween the two ran the irregular track, so narrow in places 
that they had to travel in Indian file, and so rough that > 
only practiced riders could have traversed it at all. 
Yet, in spite of all dangers and difficulties, the hearts 
of the fugitives were light within them, for every step 
increased the distance between them and the terrible 
despotism from which they were flying. 

They soon had a proof, however, that they were still 
within the jurisdiction of the Saints. They had reached 
the very wildest and most desolate portion of the pass, 
when the girl gave a startled cry, and pointed upward. 
On a rock which overlooked the track, showing out 
dark and plain against the sky, there stood a solitary 
sentinel. He saw them as soon as they perceived him, 
and his military challenge of ‘ Who goes there ?” rang 
through the silent ravine. 

“Travelers for Nevada,” said Jefferson Hope, with 
his hand upon the rifle which hung by his saddle. 

They could see the lonely watcher fingering his gun, 


and peering down at them as if dissatisfied at their 

“By whose permission ? ” he asked. 

“The Holy Four,” answered Ferrier. His Mormon 
experiences had taught him that that was the highest 
authority to which he could refer. . 

“Nine to seven,” cried the sentinel. 

“Seven to five,” returned Jefferson Hope, promptly, 
remembering the countersign which he had heard in the 

“Pass, and the Lord go with you,” said the voice 
from above. 

Beyond this post the path broadened out, and the 
horses were able to break into a trot. Looking back, 
they could see the solitary watcher leaning upon his gun, 
and knew that they had passed the outlying post of the 
Chosen People, and that freedom lay before them. 


‘Aut night their course lay through intricate defiles 
and over irregular and rock-strewn paths. More than 
once they lost their way, but Hope’s intimate knowledge 
of the mountains enabled them to regain the track once 
more. When morning broke, a scene of marvelous 
though savage beauty lay before them. In every direc- 
tion the great snow-capped peaks hemmed them in, 
peeping over one another’s shoulders to the far horizon. 
So steep were the rocky banks on either side of them 
that the larch and the pine seemed to be suspended over 
their heads, and to need only a gust of wind to come 
hurtling down upon them. Nor was the fear entirely 
an illusion, for the barren valley was thickly strewn with 
trees and bowlders which had fallen in a similar manner. 
Even as they passed, a great rock came thundering down 
with a hoarse rattle which woke the echoes in the silent 
gorges, and startled the weary horses into a gallop. 

As the sun rose slowly above the eastern horizon, the 
caps of the great mountains lighted up one after the 
other, like lamps at a festival, until they were all ruddy 
and glowing. The magnificent spectacle cheered the 
hearts of the three fugitives and gave them fresh en- 
ergy. At a wild torrent which swept out of a ravine 



they called a halt and watered their horses, while they 
partook of a hasty breakfast. Lucy and her father 
would fain have rested longer, but Jefferson Hope was 

“They will be upon our track by this time,” he said. 
“Everything depends upon our speed. Once safe in 
Carson, we may rest for the remainder of our lives.” 

During the whole of that day they struggled on through 
the defiles, and by evening they calculated that they 
were over thirty miles from their enemies. At night- 
time they chose the base of a beetling crag, where the 
rocks offered some protection from the chill wind, and 
there, huddled together for warmth, they enjoyed a few 
hours’ sleep. Before day-break, however, they were up 
and on their way once more. They had seen no signs 
of any pursuers, and Jefferson Hope began to think that 
they were fairly out of the reach of the terrible organi- 
zation whose enmity they had incurred. He little knew 
how far that iron grasp could reach, or how soon it was 
_ to close upon them and crush them. 

About the middle of the second day of their flight 
their scanty store of provisions began to run out. This 
gave the hunter little uneasiness, however, for there was 
game to be had among the mountains, and he had fre- 
quently before had to depend upon his rifle for the 
needs of life. Choosing a sheltered nook, he piled to- 
gether a few dry branches and made a blazing fire, at 
which his companions might warm themselves, for they 
were now nearly five thousand feet above the sea-level, 
and the air was bitter and keen. Having tethered the 
horses and bid Lucy adieu, he threw his gun over his 


shoulder, and set eut in search of whatever chance might 
throw in his way. Looking back, he saw the old man 
and the young girl crouching over the blazing fire, while 
the three animals stood motionless in the background. 
Then the intervening rocks hid them from his view. 

He walked for a couple of miles through one ravine 
after another without success, though from the marks 
upon the bark of the trees, and other indications, he 
judged that there were numerous bears in the vicinity. 
At last, after two or three hours’ fruitless search, he was 
thinking of turning back in despair, when casting his 
eyes upward he saw a sight which sent a thrill of pleasure 
through his heart. On the edge of a jutting pinnacle, 
three or four hundred feet above him, there stood a 
creature somewhat resembling a sheep in appearance, 
but armed with a pair of gigantic horns. The big-horn 
—for so it is called—was acting, probably, as a guar- 
dian over a flock which were invisible to the hunter; . 
but fortunately it was heading in the opposite direction, 
and had not perceived him. Lying on his back, he 
rested his rifle upon a rock, and took a long and steady 
aim before drawing the trigger. ‘The animal sprung 
into the air, tottered for a moment upon the edge of 
the precipice, and then came crashing down into the 
valley beneath. 

The creature was too unwieldy to lift, so the hunter 
contented himself with cutting away one haunch ani 
part of the flank. With this trophy over his should=r, 
he hastened. to retrace his steps, for the evening wa: 
already drawing in. He had hardly started, howeve:. 
before he reslized the difficulty which faced him. [x 


his eagerness he had wandered far past the ravines 
_ which were known to him, and it was no easy matter 
to pick out the path which he had taken. The valley 
in which he found himself divided and subdivided inta 
many gorges, which were so like one another that it 
was impossible to distinguish one from the other. He 
followed one for a mile or more until-he came to a 
mountain torrent which he was sure that he had never 
seen before. Convinced that he had taken the wrong 
turn, he tried another, but with the same result. Night 
was coming on rapidly, and it was almost dark before 
he at last found himself in a defile which was familiar 
to him. Even then it was no easy matter to keep to 
the right track, for the moon had not yet risen, and the 
high cliffs on either side made the obscurity more pro- 
found. Weighed down with his burden, and weary 
from his exertions, he stumbled along, keeping up his 
heart by the reflection that every step brought him 
nearer to Lucy, and that he carried with him enough to 
insure them food for the remainder of their journey, 

He had now come to the mouth of the very defile 
in which he had left them. Even in the darkness he 
could recognize the outlines of the cliffs which bounded 
it. They must, he reflected, be awaiting him anxiously, 
for he had been absent nearly five hours. In the glad- 
ness of his heart he put his hands to his mouth and 
made the glen reécho to a loud halloo as a signal that 
he was coming. He paused and listened for an answer. 
None came save his own cry, which clattered up the 
dreary, silent ravines, and was borne back to his ears in 
countless repetitions. Again he shouted, even louder 



than before, and again no whisper came back from the 
friends whom he had left such a short time ago. A 

vague, nameless dread came over him, and he hurried — 

onward frantically, dropping the precious food in his 
agitation. . 

When he turned the corner, he came full in sight of 
the spot where the fire had been lighted. There was 
still a glowing pile of wood-ashes there, but it had evi- 
dently not been tended since his departure. The same 
dead silence still reigned all round. With his fears all 
changed to convictions, he hurried on. There was no 
living creature near the remains of the fire; animals, 
man, maiden, all were gone. It was only too clear that 
some sudden and terrible disaster had occurred during 
his absence—a disaster which had embraced them all 
and yet had left no traces behind it. 

Bewildered and stunned by this blow, Jefferson Hope 
felt his head spin round, and had to lean upon his rifle 
to save himself from falling. He was essentially a man 
of action, however, and speedily recovered from his 
temporary impotence. Seizing a half-consumed piece of 
wood from the smoidering fire, he blew it into a flame, 
and proceeded with its help to examine the little camp. 
The ground was all stamped down by the feet of horses, 
showing that a large party of mounted men had over- 
taken the fugitives, and the direction of their tracks 
proved that they had afterward turned back to Salt 

Lake City. Had they carried back both of his com- 

panions with them? Jefferson Hope had almost per- 
suaded himself that they must have done so, when his 
eye fell upon an object which made every nerve of his 



body tingle within him. A little way on one side of the 
camp was a low-lying heap of reddish soil, which had 
assuredly not been there before. ‘There was no mis- 
taking it for anything but a newly dug grave. As the 
young hunter approached it, he perceived that a stick 
had been planted on it, with a sheet of paper stuck in 
the cleft fork of it. The inscription upon the paper was 
brief, but to the point: 

Died August 4, 1860. 

The sturdy old inan, whom he had left so short a 
time before, was gone, then, and this was all his epitaph. 
Jefferson Hope looked wildly round to see if*there was 
a second grave, but there was no sign of one. Lucy 
had been carried back by their terrible pursuers to fulfill 
her original destiny, by becoming one of the harem of 
the elder’s son. As the young fellow realized the cer- 
tainty of her fate and his own powerlessness to prevent 
it, he wished that he, too, was lying with the old farmer 
in his last silent resting-place. 

Again, however, his active spirit shook off the leth- 
argy which springs from despair. If there was nothing 
else left to him, he could at least devote his life to re- 
venge. With indomitable patience and perseverance, 
Jefferson Hope possessed also a power of sustained vin- 
dictiveness which he may have learned from the Indians 
among whom he had lived. As he stood by the deso- 
Jate fire he feit that the only one thing which could assue 


age his grief would be thorough and complete retribution 
brought by his own hand upon his enemies. His strong 
will and untiring energy should, he determined, be de- 
voted to that one end. With a grim, white face he re- 
traced his steps to where he had dropped the food, and 
having stirred up the smoldering fire, he cooked enough 
to last him for a few days. This he made up into a \ 
bundle, and, tired as he was, he set himself to walk back 
through the mountains upon the track of the Avenging 

For five days he toiled, foot-sore and weary, through 
the defiles which he had already traversed on horseback. 
At night he flung himself down among the rocks and 
snatched a few hours of sleep; but before day-break he 
was always well onhis way. On the sixth day he reached 
the Eagle Ravine, from which they had commenced 
their ill-fated flight. Thence he could look down upon 
the home of the Saints. Worn and exhausred, he leaned 
upon his rifle and shook his gaunt hand fiercely at the 
silent, widespread city beneath him. As he looked at 
it, he observed that there were flags in some of the prin- 
cipal streets, and other signs of festivity. He was still 
speculating as to what this might mean, when he heard 
the clatter of horse’s hoofs, and saw a mounted man rid- 
ing toward him. As he approached, he recognized him 
as a Mormon named Cowper, to whom he had rendered 
services at different times. He therefore accosted him 
when he got up to him, with the object of finaing out 
what Lucy Ferrier’s fate had been. 

“IT am Jefferson Hope,” he said. “You rememb«s 


The Mormon looked at him with undisguised aston- 
ishment—indeed, it was difficult to recognize in this 
tattered, unkempt wanderer, with ghastly white face and 
fierce, wild eyes, the spruce young hunter of former days. 
Having, however, at last satisfied himself as to his iden- 
tity, the man’s surprise changed to consternation. 

“You are mad to come here,” he cried. ‘It is as 
much as my own life is worth to be seen talking with 
you. There is a warrant against you from the Holy 
Four for assisting the Ferriers away.” 

“T don’t fear them or their warrant,” Hope said, 
earnestly. ‘‘ You must know something of this matter, 
Cowper. I conjure you by everything you hold dear to 
answer a few questions. We have always been friends. 
For God’s sake, don’t refuse to answer me.” 

“What is it?” the Mormon asked, uneasily. “ Be 
quick. The very rocks have ears and the trees eyes.” 

“What has become of Lucy Ferrier?” . 

“She was married yesterday to young Drebber. Hold 
up, man, hold up, you have no life left in you.” 

“Don’t mind me,” said Hope, faintly. He was white 
to the very lips, and had sunk down on the stone against 
which he had been leaning. ‘“‘ Married, you say?” 

“Married yesterday—that’s what those flags are for 
on the Endowment House. There was some words be 
tween young Drebber and young Stangerson as to which 
was to have her. They’d both been in the party that 
followed them, and Stangerson had shot her father, 
which seemed to give him the best claim; but when 
they argued it out in council, Drebber’s party was the 
stronger, so the prophet gave her over to him. Noone 


won't have her very long, though, for I saw death in her 
face yesterday. She is more like a ghost than a woman, 
Are you off, then?” 

“Yes, I’m off,” said Jefferson Hope, who had risen 
from his seat. 

His face might have been chiseled out of marble, se 
hard and so set was its expression, while his eyes glowed 
with a baleful light. 

“Where are you going P” 

“ Never mind,” he answered ; and, slinging his weap. 
on over his shoulder, strode off down the gorge and 
so away into the heart of the mountains to the haunts 
of the wild beasts. Among them all there was none se 
fierce and so dangerous as himself. 

The prediction of the Mormon was only too well ful. 
- filled. Whether it was the terrible death of her father 
or the effects of the hateful marriage into which she had 
been forced, poor Lucy never held up her head again, 
but pined away and died within a month. Her sottish 
husband, who had married her principally for the sake of 
John Ferrier’s property, did not affect any great grief at 
his bereavement; but his other wives mourned: over her, 
and sat up with her the night before the burial, as is the 
Mormon custom. They were grouped round the bier in 
the early hours of the morning, when, to their inexpress- 
ible fear and astonishment, the door was flung open, 
and a savage-looking, weather-beaten man in tattered 
garments strode into the room. Without a glance ora 
word to the cowering women, he walked up to the white, 
silent figure which had once contained the pure soul of 
Lucy Ferrier. Stooping over her, he pressed his lips 


reverently to her cold forehead, and then, snatching up 
her hand, he took the wedding-ring from her finger. 

“She shall not be buried in that,” he cried, with a 
fierce snarl, and before an alarm could be raised sprung 
down the stairs and was gone. So strange and so brief 
was the episode that the watchers might*have found it 
hard to believe it themselves or persuade other people 
of it, had it not been for the undeniable fact that the 
circlet of gold which marked her as having been a bride 
had disappeared. 

For some months Jefferson Hope lingered among the 
mountains, leading a strange, wild life, and nursing in 
his heart the fierce desire for vengeance which possessed 
him. ‘Tales were told in the city of the weird figure 
which was seen prowling about the suburbs, and which 
haunted the lonely mountain gorges. Once a bullet whis- 
tled through Stangerson’s window and flattened itself 
upon the wall within a foot of him. On another occa- 
sion, as Drebber passed under a cliff, a great bowlder 
crashed down on him, and he only escaped a terrible 
death by throwing himself upon his face. The two 
young Mormons were not long in discovering the rea- 
son of these attempts upon their lives, and led repeated 
expeditions into the mountains in the hope of capturing 
or killing their enemy, but always without success. Then 
they adopted the precaution of never going out alone 
or after nightfall, and of having their houses guarded. 
After a time they were able to relax these measures, for 
nothing was either heard or seen of their opponent, and 
they hoped that time had cooled his vindictiveness. 

Far from doing so, it had, if anything, augmented it. 


The hunter’s mind was of a hard, unyielding nature, and 
the predominant idea of revenge had taken such com- 
plete possession of it that there was no room for any 
other emotion. He was, however, above all things prac- 
tical. He soon realized that even his iron constitution 
could not stand the incessant strain which he was put- 
ting upon it. Exposure and want of wholesome food 

were wearing him out. If he died like a dog among. 

the mountains, what was to become of his revenge then? 
And yet such a death was sure to overtake him if he per- 
sisted. He felt that that was to play his enemy’s game, 
so he reluctantly returned to the old Nevada mines, 
there to recruit his health and to amass money enough 
to allow him to pursue his object without privation. 

His intention had been to be absent a year at the 
most, but a combination of unforeseen circumstances 
prevented his leaving the mines for nearly five. At the 
end of that time, however, his memory of his wrongs 
and his cravings for revenge were quite as keen as om 
that memorable night when he had stood by John Fer- 
rier’s grave. Disguised, and under an assumed name, 
he returned to Salt Lake City, careless what became of 
his own life, as long as he obtained what he knew to 
be justice. There he found evil tidings awaiting him. 
There had been a schism among the Chosen People a 
few months before, some of the younger members of 
the Church having rebelled against the authority of the 
elders, and the result had been the secession of a cer- 
tain number of the malcontents, who had left Utah and 
become Gentiles. Among these had been Drebber and 
Stangerson; and no one knew whither they had gone, 


Rumor tenorted that Drebber had managed to convert 
a large part of his property into money, and that he had 
departed a wealthy man, while his companion, Stanger- 
son, was comparatively poor. There was no clue at all, 
however, as to their whereabouts. 

Many a man, however vindictive, would have aban- 
doned all thought of revenge in the face of such a diffi- 
culty, but Jefferson Hope never faltered for a moment. 
With the small competence he possessed, eked out by 
such employment as he could pick up, he traveled from 
town to town through the United States in quest of his 
enemies. Year passed into year, his black hair turned 
grizzled, but still he wandered on, a human blood-hound, 
with his mind wholly set upon the one object upon which 
he had devoted his life. At last his perseverance was 
rewarded. It was but a glance of a face in a window, 
but that one glance told him that Cleveland, in Ohio, 
possessed the men whom he was in pursuit of. He re- 
turned to his miserable lodgings with his plan of venge- 
ance all arranged. It chanced, however, that Drebber, 
looking from his window, had recognized the vagrant 
in the street, and had read murder in his eyes. He 
hurried before a justice of the peace, accompanied by 
Stangerson, who had become his private secretary, and 
represented to him that they were in danger of their 
lives from the jealousy and hatred of an old rival. 

That evening Jefferson Hope was taken into custody, 
and not being able to find sureties, was detained for 
some weeks. When at last he was liberated, it was only 
to find that Drebber’s house was deserted and that he 
and his secretary had departed for Europe. 


Again the avenger had been foiled, and again his 
concentrated hatred urged him to continue the pursuit. 
Funds were wanting, however, and for some time he haa 
to return to work, saving every dollar for his approack 
ing journey. At last, having collected enough to keep 
life in him, he departed for Europe, and tracked his ene- 
mies from city to city, working his way in any menial 
capacity, but never overtaking the fugitives. When he 
reached St. Petersburg they had departed for Paris; and 
when he followed them there he learned that they had 
just set off for Copenhagen. At the Danish capital he 
was again a few days late, for they had journeyed on to 
London, where he at last succeeded in running them 
to earth. As to what occurred there, we cannot do 
better than quote the old hunter’s own account, as duly 
recorded in Dr. Watson’s journal, to which we are al- 
ready under such obligations. 



Our prisoner’s furious resistance did not apparently 
indicate any ferocity in his disposition toward ourselves, 
for on finding himself powerless he smiled in an affable 
manner, and expressed his hopes that he had not hurt 
any of us in the scuffle. 

“T guess you’re going to take me to the police-station,” 
he remarked to Sherlock Holmes. “ My cab’s at the 
door. If you'll loose my legs I’ll walk down to it. I’m 
not so light to lift as I used to be.” 

Gregson and Lestrade exchanged glances as if they 
thought this proposition rather a bold one; but Holmes 
at once took the prisoner at his word, and loosened the 
towel which he had bound round his ankles. He rose 
and stretched his legs, as though to assure himself that 
they were free once more. I remember that I thought 
to myself, as I eyed him, that I had seldom seen a more 
powerfully built man; and his dark, sunburned face 
bore an expression of determination and energy which 

was as formidable as his personal strength. 


“Tf there’s a vacant place for a chief of the police, I 
reckon you are the man for it,” he said, gazing with 
undisguised admiration at my fellow-lodger. _ ‘ The way 
you kept on my trail was a caution.” 

“You had better come with me,” said Holmes to the 
two detectives. 

“T can drive you,” said Lestrade. 

“Good! and Gregson can come inside with me. 
You, too, doctor; you have taken an interest in the case, 
and may as well stick to us.” 

I assented gladly, and we all descended together. 
Our prisoner made no attempt at escape, but stepped 
calmly into the cab which had been his, and we followed 
him. Lestrade mounted the box, whipped up the horse, 
and brought us in a very short time to our destination. 
We were ushered into a small chamber, where a police 
inspector noted down our prisoner’s name and the names 
of the men with whose murder he had been charged. 
The official was a white-faced, unemotional man, whe 
went through his duties in a dull, mechanical way, 
“The prisoner will be put before the magistrates in the 
course of the week,” he said; “in the meantime, Mr. 
Jefferson Hope, have you anything that you wish to 
say? I must warn you that your words will be taken 
down and may be used against you.” 

_ “T’ve got a good deal to say,” our prisoner said, 
slowly. “I want to tell you gentlemen all about it.” 


“Hadn’t you better reserve that for your trial?” 
asked the inspector. 

“I may never be tried,” he answered. ‘“ You needn’t 
look startled. It isn’t suicide I am thinking of. Are 
you a doctor?” ; 

He turned his fierce, dark eyes upon me as he asked 
this last question. 

“Yes, I am,” I answered. 

“Then put your hand here,” he said, with a smile, 
motioning with his manacled wrists toward his chest. 

I did so, and became at once conscious of an extraor- 
dinary throbbing and commotion which was going on 
inside. The walls of his chest seemed to thrill and 
quiver as a frail building would do inside when some 
powerful engine was at work. In the silence of the 
room I could hear a dull humming and buzzing noise 
which proceeded from the same source. 

“Why,” I cried, “ you have an aortic aneurism!” 

“That’s what they call it,” he said, placidly. “TI 
went to a doctor last week about it, and he told me 
that it was bound to burst before many days passed. 
It has been getting worse for years. I got it from over- 
exposure and underfeeding among the Salt Lake mount- 
ains. I’ve done my work now, and I don’t care how 
soon I go, but I should like to leave some account of 
the business behind me. I don’t want to be remembered 
as a common cut-throat.” 


The inspector and the two detectives had a hurries 
discussion as to the advisability of allowing him to tell 
his story. 

“Do you consider, doctor, that there is immediate 
danger?” the former asked. 

“ Most certainly there is,” I answered. 

“In that case, it is clearly our duty, in the interests 
ef justice, to take his statement,” said the inspector. 
“You are at liberty, sir, to give your account, which I 
again warn you will be taken down.” 

“T’ll sit down, with your leave,” the prisoner said, 
suiting the action to the word. “This aneurism of mine 
makes me easily tired, and the tussle we had half an 
hour ago has not mended matters. I’m on the brink | 
of the grave, and I am not likely to lie to you. Every | 
word I say is the absolute truth, and how you use it is 
a matter of no consequence to me.” 

With these words, Jefferson Hope leaned back in his 
chair and began the following remarkable statement. 
He spoke in a calm and methodical manner, as though 
the events which he narrated were commonplace enough. 
I can vouch for the accuracy of the subjoined account, 
for I have had access to Lestrade’s note-book, in which 
the prisoner’s words were taken down exactly as they 
were uttered. 

“It doesn’t matter much to you why I hated these 
men,” he said; “it’s enough that they were guilty of 


the death of two human beings—a father and a daugh- 
ter—and that they had, therefore, forfeited their own 
lives. After the lapse of time that has passed since their 
crime, it was impossible for me to secure a conviction 
against them in any court. I knew of their guilt, though, 
and I determined that I should be judge, jury, and ex- 
ecutioner all rolled into one. You'd have done the 
same, if you have any manhood in you, if you had been 
in my place. 

“That girl that I spoke of was to have married me 
twenty years ago. She was forced into marrying that 
same Drebber, and broke her heart over it. I took the 
marriage-ring from her dead finger, and I vowed that 
his dying eyes should rest upon that very ring, and that 
his last thoughts should be of the crime for which he 
was punished. I have carried it about with me, and 
have followed him and his accomplice over two conti- 
nents until I caught them. They thought to tire me 
out, but they could not do it. If I die to-morrow, as 
is likely enough, I die knowing that my work in this 
world is done, and well done. They have perished, and 
by my hand. There is nothing left for me to hope for 
or to desire. 

“They were rich, and I was poor, so that it was no 
easy matter for me to follow them. When I got to 
London my pocket was about empty, and I found that 
I must turn my hand to something for my living. Driv 


ing and riding are as natural to me as walking, so I ap. 
plied at a cab-owner’s office, and soon got employment. 
I was to bring a certain sum a week to the owner, and 
whatever was over that I might keep for myself. There 
was seldom much over, but I managed to scrape along 
somehow. The hardest job was to learn my way about, 
for I reckon that of all the mazes that ever were con- 
trived, this city is the most confusing. I had a map 
beside me, though, and when once I had spotted the 
principal hotels and stations, I got on pretty well. 

“Tt was some time before I found out where my two 
gentlemen were living; but I inquired and inquired 
until at last I dropped across them. ‘They were ata 
boarding-house at Camberwell, over on the other side 
of the river. When once I found them out I knew that 
I had them at my mercy. I had grown my beard, and 
there was no chance of their recognizing me. I would 
dog them and follow them until I saw my opportunity. 
I was determined that they should not escape me 

“They were very near doing it, for all that. Go 
where they would about London, I was always at their 
heels. Sometimes I followed them on my cab, and 
sometimes on foot, but the former was the best, for then 
they could not get away from me. It was only early in 
the morning or late at night that I could earn anything 
so that I began to get behindhand with my employer 


I did not mind that, however, as long as I could lay my 
hand upon the men I wanted. 

“They were very cunning, though. They must have 
thought that there was some chance of their being 
followed, for they would never go out alone, and never 
after nightfall. During two weeks I drove behind them 
every day, and never once saw them separate. Drebber 
himself was drunk half the time, but Stangerson was not 
to be caught napping. I watched them late and early, 
but never saw the ghost of a chance; but I was not 
discouraged, for something told me that the hour had 
almost come. My only fear was that this thing in my 
chest might burst a little too soon and leave my work 

“At last, one evening I was driving up and down 
Torquay Terrace, as the street was called in which they 
boarded, when I saw a cab drive up to their door. 
Presently some luggage was brought out, and after a 
time Drebber and Stangerson followed it and drove off. 

_I whipped up my horse and kept within sight of them, 
feeling ill at ease, for I feared that they were going to 
shift their quarters. At Euston Station they got out, 
and I left a boy to hold my horse and followed them 
on to the platform. I heard them ask for the Liverpool 
train, and the guard answer that one had just gone, and 
there would not be another for some hours. Stangerson 
seemed to be put out at that, but Drebber was rather 


pleased than otherwise. I got so close to them in the 

bustle that I could hear every word that passed between 
them. Drebber said that he had a little business of his 
ewn to do, and that if the other would wait for him he 
would soon rejoin him. His companion remonstrated 
with him, and reminded him that they had resolved to 
stick together. Drebber answered that the matter was 
a delicate one, and that he must go alone. I could not 
catch what Stangerson said to that, but the other burst 
out swearing, and reminded him that he was nothing 
more than his paid servant, and that he must not pre- 
sume to dictate to him. On that the secretary gave it 
up as a bad job, and simply bargained with him that if 
he missed the last train he should rejoin him at Halli- 
day’s Private Hotel, to which Drebber answered that 

he would be back on the platform before eleven, and 

made his way out of the station. 

“The moment for which I had waited so long had at 
last come. I had my enemies within my power. To 
gether they could protect each other, but singly they 
were at my mercy. I did not act, however, with undue 
precipitation. My plans were alreac_> formed. There 
is no satisfaction in vengeance unless the offender hag 
time to realize who it is that strikes him, and why retri« 
bution had come upon him. I had my plans arranged 
by which I should have the opportunity of making the 
man who had wronged me understand that his old sim 


had found him out. It chanced that some days before 
a gentleman who had been engaged in looking over 
some houses in the Brixton Road had dropped the key 
of one of them in my carriage. It was claimed that 
same evening and returned; but in the interval I had 
taken a molding of it, and had a duplicate constructed. 
By means of this I had access to at least one spot in 
this great city where I could rely upon being free from 
interruption. How to get Drebber to that house was 
the difficult problem which I had now to solve. 

“He walked down the road and went into one or 
two liquor-shops, staying for nearly half an hour in the 
last of them. When he came out he staggered in his 
walk, and was evidently pretty well on. There was a 
hansom just in front of me, and he hailed it. - I followed 
it so close that the nose of my horse was within a yard 
of his driver the whole way. We rattled across Water- 
loo Bridge and through miles of streets, until, to my as- 
tonishment, we found ourselves back in the terrace in 
which he had boarded. I could not imagine what his 
intention was in returning there; but I went on and 
pulled up my cab a hundred yards or so from the house. 
He entered it and his hansom drove away. Give mea 
glass of water, if you please. My mouth gets dry with 
the talking.” 

I handed him the glass, and he drank it down. 

“That’s better,” he said. “Well, I waited for @ 


quarter of an hour or more, when sudderly there came 
a noise like people struggling inside the house. Next 
moment the door was flung open and two men appeared, 
ene of whom was Drebber, and the other was a young 
chap whom I had never seen before. ‘This fellow had 
Drebber by the collar, and when they came to the head 
of the steps he gave him a shove and a kick which sent 
him half across the road. ‘You hound!’ he cried, shak- 
ing his stick at him, ‘I’ll teach you to insult an honest 
girl!’ He was so hot that I think he would have 
thrashed Drebber with his cudgel, only that the cur 
staggered away down the road as fast as his legs would 
carry him. He ran as far as the corner, and then, see- 
ing my cab, he hailed me and jumped in. ‘ Drive me 
to Halliday’s Private Hotel,’ said he. 

“When I had him fairly inside my cab my heart 
jumped so with joy that I feared lest at this last moment 
my aneurism might go wrong. I drove along slowly, 
weighing in my own mind what it was best todo. I 
might take him right out into the country, and there in 
some deserted lane have my last interview with him. I 
- had almost decided upon this, when he solved the prob- 

lem forme. The craze for drink had seized him again, 

and he ordered me to pull up outside a gin palace. He 
went in, leaving word that I should wait for him. 
There he remained until closing time, and when he came 


out he was so far gone that I knew the game was in my 
own hands. 

“Don’t imagine that I intended to kill him in cold 
- blood. It would only have been rigid justice if I had 
done so, but I could not bring myself to doit. I had 
long determined that he should have a show for his life 
if he chose to take advantage of it. Among the many 
billets which I have filled in America during my wan- 
dering life, I was once a janitor and sweeper-out of the 
laboratory at York College. One day the professor 
was lecturing on poisons, and he showed his students 
some alkaloid, as he called it, which he had extracted 
from some South American arrow poison, and which 
was so powerful that the least grain meant instant death. 
I spotted the bottle in which this preparation was kept, 
and when they were all gone I helped myself to a little 
of it. I was a fairly good dispenser, so I worked this 
alkaloid into small, soluble pills, and each pill I put ina 
box with a similar pill made without poison. I deter- 
mined at the time that, when I had my chance, my 
gentlemen should each have a draw out of one of these 
boxes, while I eat the pill that remained. It would be 
quite as deadly, and a good deal less noisy than firing 
across a handkerchief. From that day I had always 
my pill-boxes about with me, and the time had now 
come when I was to use them. 


“Tt was nearer one than twelve, and a wild, bleak 
night, blowing hard and raining in torrents. Dismal as 
it was outside, I was glad within—so glad that I could 
have shouted out from pure exultation. If any of you 
gentlemen have ever pined for a thing and longed for it 
during twenty long years, and then suddenly found it 
within your reach, you would understand my feelings. 

I lighted a cigar and puffed at it to steady my nerves, 

but my hands were trembling, and my temples throbbing 
with excitement. As I drove, I could see old John 
Ferrier and sweet Lucy looking at me out of the dark- 
ness and smiling at me, just as plain as I see you all in 
this room. All the way they were ahead of me, one on 
each side of the horse, until I pulled up at the house in 
the Brixton Road. 

“There was not a soul to be seen, nor a sound to be 
heard, except the dripping of the rain. When I looked 
in at the window, I found Drebber all huddled together 
in a drunken sleep. I shook him by the arm, ‘It’s time 
to go out,’ I said. : 

“* All right, cabby,’ said he. 

“T suppose he thought we had come to the hotel that 
he had mentioned, for he got out without another word 
and followed me down the garden. I kad to walk be- 
side him to keep him steady, for he was still a little top- 
heavy. When we came to the door I opened iteand led 
him into the front room. I give you my word that, all 

te ot 

SE ee eer Se, 

Se ae 

Se ee ae eee 


the way, the father and daughter were walking in freat 
of us. 

“* It’s infernally dark,’ said he, stamping about. 

“*We'll soon have a light,’ I said, striking a match 
and putting it to a wax-candle which I had brought 
with me. ° Now, Enoch Drebber,’ I continued, turning te 
him, and holding the light to my own face ‘who am I? 

“He gazed at me with bleared, drunken eyes for a 
moment, and then I saw a horror spring up in them and 
convulse his whole features, which showed me that he 
knew me. He staggered back with a livid face, and 1 
saw the perspiration break out upon his brow, while his 
teeth chattered. At the sight, I leaned my back against 
the door and laughed I5ud and long. I had always 
tnowa that vengeance would be sweet, but had never 
hoped for the contentment of soul which now possessed 

“*You dog!’ I said, ‘I have hunted you from Salt 
Lake City t¢ St. Petersburg, and you have always es- 
caped me. Now at last your wanderings ha ve come to 
an end, for either you or I shall never see to-morrow’s 
sun rise.’ He shrunk still further away as I spoke, and 
I could see on his face that he thought I was mad. So 
I was, for the time. The pulses in my temples beat like 
sledge-hammers, and I believe I would have had a fit 
of some sort if the blood had not gushed from my nose 
and releved me, 


‘*¢ What do you think of Lucy Ferrier now ?” I cried, 
locking the door and shaking the key in his face. 
‘Punishment has been slow in coming, but it has over- 
taken you at last.’ I saw his coward lips tremble as I 
spoke. He would have begged for his life, but he knew 
well that it was useless. 

“* Would you murder me?’ hestammered. | | 
*“¢There is no murder,’ I answered. ‘Who talks 
murdering a mad dog? What mercy had you upon my 
poor darling when you dragged her from her slaughtered 
father and bore her away to your accursed and shame. 

less harem?’ 

**Tt was not I who killed her father,’ he cried. 

“But it was you who broke her innocent heart,’ I 
shrieked, thrusting the box before him. ‘ Let the high 
God judge between us. Choose and eat. There is 
death in one and life in the other. I shall take what 
you leave. Let ussee if there is justice upon the earth, 
or if we are ruled by chance.’ 

“He cowered away with wild cries and prayers for 
mercy, but I drew my knife and held it to his turoat 

until he had obeyed me. Then I swallowed the other, 

and we stood facing each other in silence for a minute 
or more, waiting to see which was to live and which was 
to die. Shall I ever forget the look which came over 
his face when the first warning pangs told him that the 
poison was in his system? I laughed as I saw it, and 


Se I ee ee ee ee 



held Lucy’s marriage-ring in front of his eyes. It was 
but for a moment, for the action of the alkaloid is rapid. 
A spasm of pain contorted his features; he threw his 
hands out in front of him, staggered, and then, with a 
hoarse cry, fell heavily upon the floor. I turned him 
over with my foot and placed my hand upon his heart. 
There was no movement. He was dead! 

“The blood had been streaming from my nose, but 
I had taken no notice of it. I don’t know what it was 
that put it into my head to write upon the wall with it. 
Perhaps it was some mischievous idea of setting the 
police upon a wrong track, for I felt light-hearted and 
cheerful. I remembered a German being found in New 
York with RACHE written up above him, and it was 
argued at the time in the newspapers that the secret so- 
cieties must have done it. I guessed that what puzzled 
the New Yorkers would puzzle the Londoners, so I 
dipped my finger in my own blood and printed it ona 
convenient place on the wall. Then I walked down to 
my cab and found that there was nobody about, and 
that the night was still very wild. I had driven some 
distance, when I put my hand into the pocket in which 
I usually kept Lucy’s ring, and found that it was not 
there. I was thunder-struck at this, for it was the only 
. memento that I had of her. Thinking that I might 
have dropped it when I stooped over Drebber’s body, I 
drove back, and leaving my cab in a side street, I went 


boldly up to the house—for I was ready to dare any- 
thing rather than lose the ring. When I arrived there 
I walked right into the arms of a police officer who was 
coming out, and only managed to disarm his suspicions 
by pretending to be hopelessly drunk. 

“That was how Enoch Drebber came to his end. 
All I had to do then was to do as much for Stangerson, 
and so pay off John Ferrier’s debt. I knew that he was 
staying at Halliday’s Private Hotel, and I hung about 
all day, but he never came out. I fancy that he sus- 
pected something when Drebber failed to put in an ap- 
pearance. He was cunning, was Stangerson, and always 
on his guard. If he thought he could keep me off by 
staying in-doors he was very much mistaken. I soon 
found out which was the window of his bedroom, and — 
early next morning I took advantage of some ladders 
which were lying in the lane behind the hotel, and se 
made my way into his room in the gray of thedawn. I 
woke him up, and told him that the hour had come 
when he was to answer for the life he had taken so long 
before. I described Drebber’s death to him, and I gave 
him the same choice of the poisoned pills. Instead of 
grasping at the chance of safety which that offered him, 
he sprung from his bed and flew at my throat. In self- 
defense I stabbed him to the heart. It would have been 
the same in any case, for Providence would never have al- 
lowed his guilty hand to pick out anything but the poison. 


“T have little more to say, and it’s as well, for I am 
about done up. I went on cabbing it for a day or so, 
intending to keep at it until I could save enough to take 
me back to America. I was standing in the yard when 
a ragged youngster asked if there was a cabby there 
called Jefferson Hope, and said that his cab was wanted 
by a gentleman at 221B Baker Street. I went round, 
suspecting no harm, and the next thing I knew, this 
young man here had the bracelets on my wrists, and as 
neatly shackled as ever I was in my life. That’s the 
whole of my story, gentlemen. You may consider me 
to be a murderer; but I hold that I am just as much an 
officer ef justice as you are.” 

So thrilling had the man’s narrative been, and his 
manner was so impressive, that we had sat silent and ab- 
sorbed. Even the professional detectives, d/asé as they 
were in every detail of crime, appeared to be keenly in- 
terested in the man’s story. When he finished we sat 
for some minutes in a stillness which was only broken 
by the scratching of Lestrade’s pencil as he gave the 
finishing touches to his short-hand account. 

“There is only one point on which I should like a 
little more information,” Sherlock Holmes said at last. 
“Who was your accomplice who came for the ring 
which I advertised ? ” 

The prisoner winked at my friend jocesely. 

“TI can tell my own secrets,’ he said, “but I don’t 


get other people into trouble. I saw your advertise. 
ment, and I thought it might be a plant, or it might be 
- the ring I wanted. My friend volunteered to go and 
see. I think you'll own he did it smartly.” 

“Not a doubt of that,” said Holmes, heartily. 

“Now, gentlemen,” the inspector remarked, gravely, 
“the forms of the law must be complied with. On 
Thursday the prisoner will be brought before the magis- 
trates, and your attendance will be required. Until 
then I will be responsible for him.” 

He rang the bell as he spoke, and Jefferson Hope 
was led off by a couple of warders, while my friend and 
I made our way out of the station and took a cab back 
to Baker Street. 


We had all been warned to appear before the magis- 
trates upon the Thursday ; but when the Thursday came 
there was no occasion for our testimony. A higher 
Judge had taken the matter in hand, and Jefferson 
Hope had been summoned before a tribunal where strict 
justice would be meted out to him. On the very night 
after his capture the aneurism burst, and he was found 
in the morning stretched upon the floor of the cell, with 
a placid smile upon his face, as though he had been 
able in his dying moments to look back upon a useful 
life and on work well done. 

“Gregson and Lestrade will be wild about his death,” 
Holmes remarked, as we chatted it over next evening. 
“Where will their grand advertisement be now ?” 

“T don’t see that they had very much to do with his 
capture,” I answered. 

“What you do in this world is a matter of no conse- 
quence,” returned my companion, bitterly. “The ques- 

tion is, what can you make people believe that you have 


done? Never mind,” he continued, more brightly, after 
a pause, “I would not have missed the investigation 
for anything. ‘There has been no better case within my 
recollection. Simple as it was, there were several most 
instructive points about it.” 

“Simple!” I ejaculated. 

“Well, really, it can hardly be described as otherwise,” 
said Sherlock Holmes, smiling at my surprise. “The 
proof of its intrinsic simplicity is that without any help, 
save a few very ordinary deductions, I was able to lay 
my hand upon the criminal within three days.” 

“ That is true,” said I. 

“T have already explained to you that what is out of 
the common is usually a guide rather than a hindrance. 
In solving a problem of this sort, the grand thing is to 
be able to reason backward. ‘That is a very useful ac- 
complishment and a very easy one, but people do not 
practice it much. In the every-day affairs of life it is 
more useful to reason forward, and so the other comes 
to be neglected. There arc fifty who can reason syn- 
thetically for one who can reasou: analytically.” 

“T confess,” said I, “that I do not quite follow you.” 

“Y¥ hardly expected that you would. Let me see if I 
can make it clear. Most people, if you describe a train 
of events to them, will tell you what the result would 
be. They can put those events together in their minds, 
and argue from them that something will come to pass. 

@ S8OLe IN SCARLE2. 169 

There are few people, however, who, if you told them 
a result, would be able to evolve from their own inner 
consciousness what the steps were which led up to that 
result. This power is what I mean when I talk of rea- 
soning backward, or analytically.” 

“TI understand,” said I. 

“ Now, this was a case in which you were given the 
result and had to find everything else for yourself. Now, 
let me endeavor to show you the different steps in my 
reasoning. To begin at the beginning. I approached 
the house, as you know, on foot, and with my mind 
entirely free from all impressions. I naturally began by 
examining the road-way, and thers, as I have already ex- 
plained to you, I saw clearly the marks of a cab, which, I 
ascertained by inquiry, must have been there during the 
night. I satisfied myself that it was a cab, and not a 
private carriage, by the narrow gauge of the wheels. 
The ordinary London growler is considerably less wide 
than a gentleman’s brougham. 

“This was the first point gained. I then walked 
slowly down the garden path, which happened to be 
composed of a clay soil, peculiarly suitable for taking 
impressions. No doubt it appeared to you to be a mere 
trampled line cf slush, but to my trained eyes every 
mark upon its .urface had a meaning. There is no 
branch of detective science which is so important and 
so much neglected as the art of tracing footsteps. Hap- 


pily, I have always laid great stress upon it, and much 
practice has made it second nature to me. I saw the 
heavy foot-marks of the constables, but I saw also the 
tracks of the two men who had first passed through the 
garden. It was easy to tell that they had been before 
the others, because in places their marks had been en- 
tirely obliterated by the others coming upon the top of | 
them. In this way my second link was formed, which 
told me that the nocturnal visitors were two in number, 
one remarkable for his height (as I calculated from the 
length of his stride) and the other fashionably dressed, 
to judge from the small and elegant impression left by 
his boots. 

“On entering the house this last inference was con- 
firmed. My well-booted man lay before me. The tali 
one, then, had done the murder, if murder there was. 
There was no wound upon the dead man’s person, but 
the agitated expression upon his face assured me that 
he had foreseen his fate before it came upon him. Men 
who die from heart disease or any sudden natural cause 
never by any chance exhibit agitation upon their feat- 
ures. Having sniffed the dead man’s lips, I detected a 
slightly sour smell, and I came to the conclusion that 
he had had poison forced upon him. Again, I argued 
that it had been forced upon him, from the hatred and 
fear expressed upon his face. By the method of exclu- 
sion I had arrived at this result, for no other hypothesis 


would meet the facts. Do not imagine that it was a 
very unheard-of idea. The forcible administration of ~ 
peison is by no means a new thing in criminal annals, 
The cases of Dolsky, in Odessa, and of Leturier, in 
Montpellier, will occur at once to any toxicologist. 

“And now came the great question as to the reason 
why. Robbery had not been the object of the murder, 
for nothing was taken. Was it politics, then, or was it 
a woman? ‘That was the question which confronted 
me. I was inclined from the first to the latter supposi- 
tion. Political assassins are only too glad to do their 
work and to fly. This murder had, on the contrary, 
been done most deliberately, and the perpetrator had 
left his tracks all over the room, showing that he had 
been there all the time. It must have been a private 
wrong, and not a political one, which called for such a 
methodical revenge. When the inscription was discov- 
ered upon the wall I was more inclined than ever to my 
opinion. The thing was too evidently a blind. When 
the ring was found, however, it settled the question. 
Clearly the murderer had used it to remind his victim of 
some dead or absent woman. It was at this point that 1 
asked Gregson whether he had inquired in his telegram 
to Cleveland as to any particular point in Mr. Drebber’s 
former career. He answered, you remember, in the 

“I then proceeded to make a careful examination ef 


the room, which confirmed me in my opinion as to the 
murderer’s height, and furnished me with the additional 
detail as to the Trichinopoly cigar and the length of his 
nails. I had already come to the conclusion, since there 
were no signs of a struggle, that the blood which cov- 
ered the floor had burst from the murderer’s nose in his 
excitement. I could perceive that the track of blood 
coincided with the track of his feet. It is seldom that 
any man, unless he is very full-blooded, breaks out in 
this way through emotion, so I hazarded the opinion. 
that the criminal was probably a robust and ruddy-faced 
man. Events proved that I had judged correctly. 

“ Having left the house, I proceeded to do what Greg- 
son had neglected. I telegraphed to the head of the | 
police at Cleveland, limiting my inquiry to the circum- 
stances connected with the marriage of Enoch Drebber. . 
The answer was conclusive. It told me that Drebber 
had already applied for the protection of the law against 
an old rival in love. named Jefferson Hope, and that 
this same Hope was at present in Europe. I knew now 
that I held the clue to the mystery in my hand, and all 
that remained was to secure the murderer. 

“‘T had already determined in my own mind that the 
man who had walked into the house with Drebber was 
none other than the man who had driven the cab. The 
marks in the road showed me that the horse had wau- 
dered on in a way which it would have been impossibie 


had there been any one in charge of it. Where, then, 
could the driver be, unless he were inside the house? 
Again, it is absurd to suppose that any sane man would 
carry out a deliberate crime under the very eyes, as it 
were, of a third person, who was sure to betray him. 
Lastly, supposing one man wished to dog another through 
London, what better means could he adopt than to turn 
cab-driver? All these considerations led me to the irre- 
sistible conclusion that Jefferson Hope was to be found 
among the jarveys of the metropolis. 

“If he had been one there was no reason to believe 
that he had ceased to be. On the contrary, from his 
point of view, any sudden change would be likely to 
draw attention to himself. He would probably, for a 
time at least, continue to perform his duties. There 
was no reason to suppose that he was going under an 
assumed name. Why should he change his name ina 
country where no one knew his original one? I there- 
fore organized my street-arab detective corps, and sent 
them systematically to every cab proprietor in London 
until they ferreted out the man that I wanted. How 
well they succeeded and how quickly I took advantage 
of it are still fresh in your recollection. The murder of 
Stangerson was an incident which was entirely unex- 
pected, but which could hardly in any case have been 
prevented. Through it, as you know, I came into pos- 
session of the pills, the existence of which I had already 


surmised. You see, the whole thing is a chain of logical . 
sequences without a break or flaw.” 

“Tt is wonderful!” Icried. ‘ Your merits should be 
publicly recognized. You should publish an account 
of the case. If you won't, I will for you.” 

“You may do what you like, doctor,” he answered. 
“See here!” he continued, handing a paper over to me; 
“look at this!” 

It was the “ Echo” for the day, and the paragraph to 
which he pointed was devoted to the case in question. 

“The public,” it said, “have lost a sensational treat 
through the sudden death of the man Hope, who was 
suspected of the murder of Mr. Enoch Drebber and of 
Mr. Joseph Stangerson. The details of the case will 
probably never be known now, though we are informed 
upon good authority that the crime was the result of 
an old-standing and romantic feud, in which love and 
‘Mormonism bore a part. Itseems that both the victims . 
belonged, in their younger days, to the Latter-Day 
Saints, and Hope, the deceased prisoner, hails also from 
Salt Lake City. If the case has had no other effect, it at 
least brings out in the most striking manner the efficiency 
of our detective police force, and will serve as a lesson to 
all foreigners that they will do wisely to settle their 
feuds at home, and not to carry them on to British soil. 
It is an open secret that the credit of«this smart capture 
belongs entirely to the well-known Scotland Yard offi 


cials, Messrs. Lestrade and Gregson. The man was ap- 
prehended, it appears, in the rooms of a certain Mr. 
Sherlock Holmes, who has himself, as an amateur, shown 
some talent in the detective line, and who, with such in- 
structors, may hope in time to attain to some degree of 
their skill. It is expected that a testimonial of some 
sort will be presented to the two officers as a fitting rec- 
‘cognition of their services.” 

“ Didn’t I tell you so when we started P” cried Sher. 
lock Holmes, with a laugh. ‘“ That’s the result of all 
our Study in Scarlet: to get them a testimonial!” 

“Never mind,” I answered; “‘I have all the facts in 
my journal, and the public shall know them. In the 
meantime, you must make yourself contented by the 
consciousness of success, like the Roman miser— 

** Populus me sibilat, at mihi plaudo 
Ipee domi simul ac nummos contemplar in area,’ ” 





From the Brooklyn Eagle: 

‘Bridge is not yet so well known as whist, 
but an hour’s study of this clever little book 
ought to be enough to enable anyone to play 
with moderate success. It is written mainly 
for the instruction of amateurs, but, in addi- 
tion, the author, who is herself an expert, 
has given numerous hints that will be valu- 
able to the most advanced player.”” .. . 

From the Dramatic Mirror: 
‘‘The game is explained in simple fashion 
—which is indeed an achievement, consider- 
ing ‘its complications.’? 0) 4! )6e ela 

From the St. Louis Globe-Democrai: 

‘The little volume is just what it pretends 
to be—an elementary treatise on the subject, 
and is not rendered top-heavy, by overload- 
ing of extraneous matter. It will take one 
about an hour to read it, and he will then 
know how the game is played.”’ 

Incloth. Gold top. Illustrated with diagrams. 
Price, 75 Cents. 

STREET AND SMITH, New York and London 




By M. G. RITCHIE, of the International Games Club, 
and ARNOLD PARKER, Winner of the Queen’s 
Hall Ping Pong Tournament. 

Edited for American Players 


This is an entirely new work on this 
popular game, brought down to date, and 
containing many valuable suggestions on 
new strokes and new positions. It is illus- 
trated with many diagrams and is adapted 
for the expert as well as the beginner. A 
book every American player of this game 
should possess. 

18mo., Silk Cloth. Price, 50 cents. 

STREET AND SMITH, New York and London 


Toothsome Tales 
Told in Slang ...74 


A book of fascinating stories about fasci- 
nating folks 

Pretty women before and behind the foot- 

lights, artists and their models, literary 

men of Bohemian tendencies, these are 

the people whom Billy Burgundy has se- 

lected for characterization. True, they speak 

their lines in slang, but it is the slang of the 

educated, and is always artistic while delight- 

Pally siatinine 36 ee ap Ses ee 

Pronounced by press and public one of the 

funniest books ever published . .... 

The illustrations are by Outcault, Swin- 

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Lemon, Cobband Bryans. ..... -« 

Copiously Illustrated. Price, 75 cents. 

STREET AND SMITH, New York and London 


iis Of... 
Broken China 


A collection of captivating novelettes deal- 
ing with life in New York’s ‘‘Chinatown.” 

The struggles and ambitions of the China- 
man in America, his loves and jealousies, 
his hopes and fears, his sorrows, his joys, 
these are the materials on which Mr. Fales 
Hae Watlt £119 HOOK | a a) eek a ig) be 

It is a mew field, and all the more inter- 
esting on that account. The author has 
made a life study of his subject ; and no one 
is better qualified than he to present a picture 
of this romantic corner of New York where 
lives the exiled Chinaman 

“Bits of Broken China’’ is vididonbeny 
one of the most delightful volumes for lighter 
reading published thisseason . . 

Bound in cloth. Gold top. Fully Illustrated 

Price, 75 Cents. 

STREET AND SMITH, Wew York and London 


Breakneck Farm. 

By Evelyn Raymond. 

Although Evelyn Raymond had penned 
many delightful stories for girls and boys, 
she has surpassed herself in ‘‘ Breakneck 
Farm,’’ which tells of the doings of Faith 
Merriman and her brothers on an old 
abandoned country place, whither the 
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trials and triumphs of the young people, 
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interest any girl or boy. 

Bound in cloth, 12 mo, printed in colors and gold, 

fully illustrated. 

Price, $1.25. 

STREET AND SMITH, New York and London 


A Fair Maid of 

By Kate Tannatt Wood. 

The author calls this the simple story of a 
true-hearted American girl. Itisall of that, 

but it is likewise more; a tale drawn true to 

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Marblehead, with its old fashioned people 

and their peculiar ways. A book to please 

both young and old. 

Bound in Cloth. 

Price, $1.00. 

STREET AND SMITH, New York and London 




Author of ‘‘DETMOLD.”’ 

Not one story, but a number of charming 
storyettes, terse, snappy and absorbingly 
Veoh yoo, 61 a a ae ie SECA SEED iF 5 

There is a delightful pen sketch of a 
woman of small means who aspires to a con- 
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to disguise the true state of affairs from her 
out-of-town friends are laughable; but the 
fun becomes tinged with pathos when she 
borrows a furnished mansion for an evening, 
and a rich relative, invited to dine with 
her, uncloaks the pitiable fraud 

The promising boy and the fond patroness 
are the chief characters in another brilliant 
character study in “‘Queer People.”” . . . 

12mo., Cloth. Price, $1.00. 

STREET AND SMITH, New York and London 


Tons of IlIreasure 


Author of ‘“‘DETMOLD.”’ 

When two women love one man there is 
usually trouble brewing. Nor is the story 
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His hero is a manly New Yorker, who is 
fired with a zeal to ‘‘make good’’ a defalca- 
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In quest of gold he visits Mexico and 
there meets a dreamy-eyed maid who 
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heart. But an American girl has already 
won his love. Itisa pathetic situation and 
if one true woman’s heart breaks before the 
man’s mission is ended who is to blame? 

There are many touching incidents in the 
book, but none more full of pathos than 
when the woman who loves bares her soul 
to the woman whois loved . .. . 

12mo., Cloth. Price, $1.00. 

STREET AND SMITH, New York and London 


D’Artagnan, the 
King Maker... 


Written originally by Dumas as a play, and now for the 
first time novelized and translated into English. 

The Philadelphia Enquirer says: 

““A pretty love story in which the debonair 
cavalier falls victim to Cupid’s wiles is one 
of the interesting threads running through 
PAR I pie deme cet ell teed an 

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winning the hermit kingdom contains 
enough thrills to repay a careful reading. 
The story oozes adventure at every chapter.’’ 

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“Tt is a strong tale brimful of incident 
from the moment when Cardinal Richelieu 
dispatches the redoubtable D’ Artagnan on his 
king-making mission to Portugal.’’ 

12mo., Illustrated. Price, $1.00. 

STREET AND SMITH, New York and London 



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